


Smother

by rosemarydreams



Series: Tachycardia [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Barduil - Freeform, M/M, Vampire AU, Vampire Bard, Vampire!Bard, also legolas is protective of his ada, and each other in the process, and the master still doesnt like bard, discovering more about their relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemarydreams/pseuds/rosemarydreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew very well of the risks that came with feeding off of the elf, and he could only hope that Thranduil was aware of them as well; even so, one small misstep on either of their parts could cause their agreement to go awry...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caught

As a serene, brilliant orange afternoon sky falls upon the forest of Mirkwood, the leaves are tinted with warm colors not only by the palette of the sunset, but also by the coming of autumn in Middle Earth. The forest had been overrun by bold, varying shades of red all throughout the thick woods; and within this denseness sits a clearing, a safe haven from the unpredictable nature of the forest. The grass is green and fresh, and littered with small flowers, as well as surrounded by a few leaves that had just begun to fall upon the changing season. This part of the forest had remained miraculously untouched by the darkness that had overcome Mirkwood as of late--- at least, for the time being.

The fact that this very remnant of the forest that was once vibrant and beautiful had, somehow, managed to remain unscathed even now, was the exact reason that a man who had once been considered a monster, and his elven companion, had chosen this clearing in particular to take a sort of refuge in; from the outside world and company that did not understand them, and they would not bother to make them understand. Here, they were alone, and at peace; they needn't anyone but the company of each other's prescence.

And here, while they were in isolation, the man who had once been a monster was able to indulge in the delectable taste of sweet, elven blood.

Bard the bargeman (who had previously thought himself an ordinary man but was now beginning to reconsider) had met Thranduil the Elvenking about three months prior to this oncoming autumn season, and during those several months, the two of them formed a strange and ambiguous sort of relationship that was only kickstarted by Bard's uncontrollable need to sink his fangs into the Elvenking's neck (which was a pleasure he now found himself partaking in much more frequently, as of late); after the first instance in which Bard had given into his desire, rather than severing the bond between the two of them, their intimacy only grew, and sometimes breached the boundaries of what would be considered an ordinary friendship between man and elf.

As the two lounged about in the lush, dark grass of the forest clearing, Bard kept Thranduil in a secure embrace, as he licked at the two freshly made puncture wounds on the elf's pale, slender neck; dark, rich blood seeped out of them in earnest, and Bard could have sworn that every time felt the warmth of that sweetness on his tongue, he fell into a state of pure bliss. He wished he was able to have more of it, or perhaps, all of it, if it didn't mean murdering an elven friend who had come to mean so much to him, and had selflessly volunteered his own body as a practical and easy drink, for a monster such as Bard. Thoughts such as these were the only things keeping him from sucking Thranduil dry, without mercy; just as he had done to countless fauna in the past.

Meanwhile, Thranduil will tremble every now and then in Bard's possessive grasp, and the vampire's ears tingle at the very sound of every little stifled moan and whimper, probably held back for the sake of pride; the Elvenking too full of himself to come apart at every lick and kiss pressed to the most sensitive parts of the crook of his neck. Bard knew before that elves had heightened senses; eyesight, hearing, and otherwise, but he never would have thought that their tactile senses were intensified, as well. Perhaps, that is why most elves had an aversion to touch, favoring other means of expression over physical contact, if it were really this easy to have one so vulnerable and needy in an embrace. Or, perhaps, Thranduil was just unique among elves.

Either way, Bard was taking an entirely different sort of pleasure in the way he could so easily take advantage of the elf's senses with a few touches in just the right places; it made him want to ravage Thranduil, mark him up with bites from head to toe, and claim the elf as his own. This need was made to satisfy a pleasure within Bard that was entirely different than his thirst. Yet, Bard was always reeled back from his high just as soon as he had gotten just enough; and he always knew when he had, upon the Elvenking's word.

"That's enough, Bard," The elf would say, with great affirmation despite the flustered state that Bard's feeding always left him in; and, upon command, the vampire would withdraw his fangs from the elf. The great amount of self control that Bard had to maintain, in order to keep him from feeding even more, was, at first, difficult to catch onto. However, the two of them had been having these sorts of meetings for a few months now; Bard was finally beginning to catch on with ease, and he was oddly proud of himself, being able to maintain a sane head and pull away just when he needed to. Sometimes, however, he still had his off days...

When he pulled away from Thranduil on this particular day, he sat back in the grass to gaze upon the beauty that was the Elvenking of the Mirkwood forest. True, he was beautiful by nature, but something about having just been fed from made the elf seem to glow with some sort of otherworldy quality, in Bard's eyes. Not to mention that the orange glow of the sunset rested upon the elf just right, through the clearing of the trees, and it illuminated his long, silver hair with a heavenly quality. The bargeman felt as though, there was nothing he could do during this very moment that would not absolutely destroy it, except to lean back and take in the sight before him.

As he did just that, however, he noticed something; a quality to the way that Thranduil wearily reached his left hand up to grasp tightly onto the newly crafted wound on the right side of his neck, in order to stop the blood from seeping out of it any longer than it needed to; lest it tempt his vampire into a frenzy all over again. As Bard began to come down from the high that Thranduil's blood had temporarily granted him, he narrowed his eyes and examined the elf's expression; his eyes were half-lidded and tired, his gaze fixed on the ground. Not to mention, he appeared to be more pale than usual. The heightened sense of seeing that Bard's vampire strength would grant him every now and then allowed him to see such qualities; in addition, he could very well admit to glancing far too long upon the Elvenking's perfectly sculpted features--- long enough to know when something was off.

Bard leaned in close, a tint of worry on his face seeping into the tone of his voice as he spoke. "Have I had too much, Thranduil?" He asked, in a concerned manner. He knew very well of the risks that came with feeding off of the elf, and he could only hope that Thranduil was aware of them as well; he certainly seemed to be, when he first proposed that the bargeman should drink from him on a regular basis, but even so, one small misstep on either of their parts could cause their agreement to go awry...

The concern in Bard's inquiry seemed to snap the Elvenking out of the daze that he had been in, and he promptly shook his head in denial. "No, you have not." He said, reassuringly.

Still, Bard's brows furrowed in disbelief, unsure as to whether the Elvenking spoke the truth to him, or he had lied for the wellbeing of Bard's feelings towards him. Either way, he felt as though he needed to take extra precautions for the health and safety of his elven friend. He reached out to touch Thranduil on the shoulder, and the elf flinched at the sudden contact, although his facial expression was untelling of whether he was caught off guard, or not. "Still, you look weary," Bard observed, and he gently nudged Thranduil down, towards the warm grass, "You should lie down." He insisted.

Thranduil sighed, and gave in to Bard's concerned urges, slowly leaning backwards until he found himself lying on his back among the lush terrain beneath him, his silver locks spread out on the ground, in a halo around him. Still, the elf looked displeased as he glanced up towards Bard. "I feel fine," He insisted, and his gaze grew icy, "You needn't underestimate the strength and stability of elvenkind, Bard. I may appear to be made of porcelain, but I assure you, I am not." He said, sounding harsh and firm.

Bard only smirked down at him, before joining him on the grass and laying down on his side, to Thranduil's right. He nudged himself closer before he nuzzled up into the crook of Thranduil's neck, against the wound that was just beginning to heal. Bard had noticed not long ago that most of his puncture wounds had not left scars; he figured that either elves were brilliant healers (which was true) or, Thranduil hid the bargeman's bitemarks with some sort of elven magic. Either way, Bard did not care to question it, and instead spoke against the skin of the elf's neck, "Ah, but you look as beautiful as the most delicate of woodland flowers," Bard teased, and he smirked against Thranduil's pale skin, his eyes shut happily, "Therefore, I feel the need to treat you as such."

Bard only grinned when his words against the Elvenking's sensitive skin (which was raw and red from being licked at, suckled and smothered by Bard's needy tongue) elicited a few shivers from the elf, and when Thranduil spoke, his tone was quiet, and shy--- a quality he seldom heard from the elf. "I would really like to kiss you, right now." He stated in a very straightforward manner that almost had Bard stifling laughter, for Thranduil was just really very socially awkward. Then again, the bargeman figured it had been quite a long time since the elf had been with anyone, in this manner, and he would not doubt that Thranduil may have found himself at a loss of what to do, what move to make next, at several points during their time spent together.

So instead, Bard smirked against the Elvenking's form, and as the two lay together on the grass, the man looked up to meet with the elf's gaze, which was a warmer, deeper blue than it had ever been, as though it was so telling of the fact that the ice around his heart was beginning to thaw, at long last. Bard leaned forward, close enough for his lips to be at the very most a mere inch away from Thranduil's and he closed his eyes, "Kiss me, then," he murmured against the other as his lips just barely ghosted over the elf's own, and then Bard moved in to close the empty space between them, placing a gentle kiss on the other's lips with such sincerity, as though he was never so sure of kissing anyone else in his entire life.

And that was when Bard would smile against the gentle and intimate contact, which the Elvenking returned all the while, as he let himself become engulfed by feelings of security and calmness. From the moment he first dared to take the risk and grant the elf a kiss on his behalf, Bard realized that he was not only attached to Thranduil because of the sweetness of his blood (which seemed as though it was only amplified through the delicate softness of the elf's absolutely perfectly shaped lips) but also, Bard felt as though the beast within him could subside, even if only for a moment, so long as he stayed within the elf's grasp. Realistically, Bard knew he would never be able to will the thirst away from his being; at least, not forever, but when he was beside his elf, he felt momentarily safe from the horrid nature that dwelled inside of him.

When the two broke the kiss and met each other's gazes once more, Bard took to averting his eyes almost immediately, out of shyness, and hiding his face against the elf's chest--- and, soon enough, he felt long, delicate fingers roping their way through his matted hair, in a random, yet soothing and precise manner that Thranduil seemed to carry about himself so effortlessly. Bard sighed dreamily against the contact, as he thought to himself of all the feelings that Thranduil gave him, as well as the fact that he still may as well have been unsure of what about half of them were...

And that rather finicky thought begged a question that needed to be asked, and so, Bard sighed against before speaking quietly. "Thranduil, what are we...?" He asked, very suddenly and in a manner so quick that he may as well have not wanted to have been heard by the elf, but he knew the other's keen hearing would pick up on his inquiry.

Before the elf even spoke a word to Bard, the bargeman knew that he would understand what he was asking of exactly--- a name, for the basis of whatever relationship the two of them possessed, right now. Were they friends? Lovers? Or somewhere in between? It was more than obvious that they craved each other, physically, and it was also made clear that their contrasting personalities kept the two of them in balance, able to support themselves emotionally when they would need it. However, they had not made their relationship public; it was a secret kept between the two of them. They had not visited each other in any place other than remote spots in the forest, or along the river bank. They had not even met each other's kin, yet--- everything they had was still shrouded in a cloudy cover of ambiguity, as was Thranduil's reply to Bard's question. "Does it matter?" He asked in return, all the while petting the back of Bard's head with ease, as though he was attempting to sooth his human into silence.

Bard, however, did not relent just yet, as he let out a small, but somewhat exasperated chuckle. "No," He returned, "I suppose it does not..." And he fell into an uncomfortable state of quietness.

Thranduil seemed to pick up on this right away, raising an eyebrow questioningly before deciding that the bargeman would need some form of reassurance. The elf shut his eyes, sighed, before speaking again. "I do enjoy your company, Bard," He confirmed, and he felt the human in his grasp shift ever so slightly, perhaps to glance up at him. Still, his gaze remained averted as he spoke, "You constantly surprise me with your actions, which, in the years I have faced on this earth, is a very difficult thing to achieve; and yet, _you do_ ," He said, "Furthermore, you could have started to treat me as a royal from the moment that you discovered my title, and yet, you do not. As I have said before, I find this refreshing, about your presence..." He continued.

Bard felt his spirits being lifted with every word that came from the Elvenking; when he spoke, he always sounded so serious, cold, and calculated, but the warmth that his words carried betrayed his tone immensely. They carried a wistfulness within them, as well as such a great sense of caring, that Bard was once again reassured of his dear elven friend's true nature. Bottle it up, keep it hidden as he may, but the bargeman felt a small twinge of happiness at the idea that he may very well be the only man who really and truly knew, that Thranduil had a big heart, and an innate need to care for and protect others. Bard knew that the elf hid this aspect of himself because it would only serve as his downfall if used against him, and that was why the man felt so priveleged, to be in a position where Thranduil could allow himself to be this vulnerable around Bard, to let his affection seep into his words.

As he listened to the soothing sound of Thranduil's velvety smooth voice, Bard felt himself loosening up around the edges, and falling into the comfort that the reassuring words had offered him. He sunk into Thranduil's embrace, and could sense a smirk from the elf as he held the man closer. "What I mean to say is, when thinking of a name for what we have, it actually should not matter," He said, "What does matter, is that you are happy with it." He continued, and then he trailed off with a sigh, as though to finish by saying, 'I know I am,' however, even Bard knew that those little sentimental statements could remain unsaid, for the elf's feelings, although unspoken, were already made too obvious in the way he almost protectively embraced the bargeman beneath him.

Bard couldn't stop a smirk from creeping its way onto his features, as he wriggled his way out of the elf's grasp just enough to look back up at him, with a coy expression on his face. "If I'd known that I'd get this sort of talk out of you if I'm feeling upset, I'd have expressed sadness much sooner," He said, alluding to the obvious fact that it was so rare for Thranduil to be so honest and emotional (by Elvenking standards, at the very least) around him, and Bard couldn't doubt that he enjoyed it. Bard shut his eyes, leaned in for a kiss, and as soon as his lips were just ghosting over the elf's, he spoke again, "I am still feeling a bit moody; how about you cheer me up by telling me all about how I'd shoot ten spiders right between their beady eyes, just for you, hm?"

Thranduil grinned, and couldn't help but chuckle (low and melodious in a way that made Bard absolutely melt) in reply to the bargeman's comments. He could have chosen to expose the slight irritation he possessed at Bard's successful efforts of ruining his attempt to be honest and romantic with him, but he knew that it was in the man's nature to do so, to say such crude things with no finesse to his words at all. All in all, the elf was glad that he had uplifted Bard's mood, and that was why he only replied with a simple, "Oh, don't be smart," before returning the human's kiss.

\-----------------------------------------------

The two parted ways just before the sun fully set in the sky, and the clouds had lost their bright red-orange tint. They made sure to leave before the forest and the river alike, became shrouded in pitch black darkness, if only to ensure a safe return for each other. They both knew very well that the worst of the horrors that lurked within the forest had a tendency to come forth upon nightfall; in addition, Thranduil insisted that Bard leave before then, fearing his ability to navigate the river back to Laketown would be put in peril if he were to do so in the darkness. Bard merely offered rebuttal after rebuttal to Thranduil's concerns, assuring him that he was 'born and raised on those waters', and he 'could navigate them blindfolded' if he truly wished to do so.

Even when they had bid each other a farewell, and Thranduil had disappeared into the thick woods, he still harbored a twinge of doubt towards Bard's statements, regardless to how much the human had insisted that he would be alright on his journey home. As the elf easily navigated his way towards his palace through the trees, he pondered to himself about his own feelings, and what exactly the source of them was...

He had to admit, he was often concerned for Bard as soon as he let the human leave his sight--- not only was he afraid of the perils he would face if he were to be left alone in these woods, but among the times that they had met up together, Bard had, once or twice, found himself able to vent to the elf about his situation in Laketown--- how the Master always seemed to be on his case, moreso than usual, as of late--- and how Bard apparently had to watch out for spies, as well. Thranduil worried for Bard, indeed, and he wanted nothing more than to travel to Laketown himself and intervene, but there were two things keeping him from pursuing this desire. The first, being, that Bard had insisted a number of times that Thranduil not pay him a visit in his hometown, if only to keep the unsuspecting townsfolk away from the possibility of falling into a state of panic.

And the second reason, was that... in truth, Thranduil did not know why he would want to intervene in the first place.

By all means, it made no sense to him, that he suddenly held this human so close to his heart, in such a short amount of time, as well. The Elvenking realized he was very well on the way to holding Bard at a very high regard, which was usually only reserved for his fellow elves, who he always cherished the lives of dearly, whether he made these feelings very clear, or not. But Bard, he was mortal--- it was practically a death sentence to whatever love Thranduil still held within him, to be falling for a mortal--- and if he was truly falling, it was at a much faster rate than anything an elf should ever experience. Then again, with the few years that Bard would have, in comparison to the Elvenking, he supposed that it was only logical that he fall fast and passionately--- perhaps, even his own heart knew that he did not have all the time in the world.

And, perhaps, there was not a lot of harm in just allowing himself to fall; Bard was a handsome man, there was no doubt in that statement, and he was a skilled fighter, and clearly devoted to those that he cared for, as evidenced by his lack of hesitance to spend an arrow or two on a spider for Thranduil's sake. The elf also admired the way that Bard could combat literally anything that Thranduil said, despite his status as an elven royal, with the most blunt and thoughtless jabs directed at the elf.

He would never say it out loud, never admit it, but, the friendship he had with Bard made him feel normal, made him feel _young_ \--- and most importantly, made him feel as though he was less _broken_ than he was before. Bard hardly ever treated him as though he was some sort of untouchable, delicate creature made of glass. He did not look upon the Elvenking with a mix of admiration and fear, as the elf's underlings had--- and he did not treat him with spite and resentment, as Thranduil's countless enemies did, when confronted with the king's cold-hearted exterior. Rather, Bard valued Thranduil as an equal, and that was a feeling that the elf wished he could keep with him, forever.

And, just as that thought crossed his mind, Thranduil found himself falling into an action (figuratively and literally) that he probably had not been a victim of since he was a young elfling. As he was still walking through the forest, he found himself losing his footing and tripping over a thick root from one of the many trees beside him, and he fell to the ground with a startled yelp.

To a man, a dwarf, perhaps even a hobbit--- for most mortal beings, really, tripping and falling was somewhat of an ordinary occurrence, to them. However, Thranduil was an _elf_ , and moreover, he was an elf with several centuries worth of experience navigating these woods. Like Bard and his river, he could, perhaps, do it blindfolded. With that being said, it was extremely abnormal for the elf to simply lose his footing over a stray root, and that alone told him that something was very, very wrong.

Thranduil tried to pull himself off of the ground after a few moments of laying against the fallen leaves and terrain, but his efforts only had him growing weak. He grasped onto a tree by his side for some sort of anchor, as he tried to pull himself back to his feet, but suddenly, his head ached, and the world was spinning, causing his knees to buckle and pull him down into a kneeling position onto the floor, as the vertigo overtook his very being, turning his vision wobbly and blurring it into a solid image of nothingness.

Was he... _Weary?_ The mere thought of falling to such an ailment felt absurd to Thranduil, but it certainly was not impossible--- however, if he was in such a state of being, it had obviously been far too long for the feeling to be familiar to him, at all. If he had been plagued with such weariness all this time, as he was making the journey home, he had obviously been too lost in his thoughts to notice and stop to rest earlier on. As the realization dawned upon him (along with feelings of shame and humiliation for neglecting his own state of being) another did, as well.

He suddenly knew all too well, the very reason why he was now overcome with such weakness in every inch of his being--- he had, after all, lost quite a bit of blood thanks to a certain vampire. "Idiot," He murmured under his breath, but the curse was not directed towards Bard, but rather, towards himself. In their relationship, Thranduil was the one who held authority over how much the man was able to drink from him. It was entirely up to him to know when to put a stop to it--- and in this case, he had failed. He had forgotten his own limits, and now, he was paying the price in the form of overwhelming weariness and vertigo.

He tried to stand up again, despite the fact that he could not see, out of his one good eye, and there was now an unbearable ringing in his ears--- but if he could just get back to his chambers and lie down for longer than he had been able to earlier, on the lush forest grass--- perhaps, then, he could simply sleep off this horrible feeling, and Bard would not have to know of the Elvenking's mistake (for he knew the bargeman would blame himself no matter what) nor would Thranduil have to undergo the shame of admitting to it, in the first place.

However, it seemed that all fate was turned against the elf in every manner of speaking, as Thranduil barely lasted five seconds on his feet again, and he hardly made two steps before full on collapsing onto the forest floor, one final time--- and now, he would stay there, unable to find the strength within him to get up, his blood loss leaving him lightheaded, weak, and feeling utterly helpless and humiliated. His eyes began to shut, as much as he willed them not to, and he subsequently felt all of his barriers crumbling down all at once. He no longer had the strength or concentration to keep up his glamour illusions, and he felt them melt away, to reveal not only the burn scars that he bore on his left, from an age past, but also exposing the bite marks that littered the entirety of his slender neck, so utterly revealing of exactly what he'd fallen victim to, over these past few months.

He lay there on the forest terrain, exposed and tired, for a long while before he was out cold. The concept of time had escaped him in his weary state of mind--- he did not know how long he was there, for a few minutes, or a few hours--- and he did not bother to care. The last thing that Thranduil recalled, as he kept a firm grasp onto his final scrapling of consciousness, was the sound of his elven warriors in the distance, calling out worried statements and concerns in elvish, somewhere in the woods. Were they looking for him, perhaps? Was he really absent for that long? He did not know, and he would not find out, as he finally succumbed to the darkness that plagued the remainder of his vision, unwillingly falling into a troubled, but restful state.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Bard returned home with little to no hassle--- he had barely made it back to Laketown before the sky darkened completely, not to mention that, on this particular day, the Master's spies were nowhere in sight, oddly enough. Although an advantage to him, the bargeman was rather wary of the spies' absences. He pondered upon the strangeness as he approached his small house, feeling as though the occurrence gave him liberty to suspect that the Master had something rather big, and alarming, planned just for him...

All thoughts concerning suspicions disappeared, however, as soon as Bard opened the door to his home, and barely even managed to get a simple 'hello' out, before he was greeted by an embrace from his eldest daughter. Slightly startled, he was caught off guard as Sigrid wrapped her arms around his collar as soon as he stepped foot into his domain, and she pulled him back into the house as the door shut gently behind him.

"Happy three months, Da!" She exclaimed, although her tone was hushed, and the rest of the house was eerily quiet.

Bard raised an eyebrow, before gently nudging his daughter off of him, breaking free from her embrace. "Say that again? What's this about three months?" He inquired, and he gave his surroundings a quick glance before meeting his daughter's eager, beaming gaze again, "And where's Tilda and Bain?" He asked.

"I've put them to bed, it's just us," Sigrid said, and she stepped away from her father, her arms outstretched to direct his attention to the kitchen, which looked as though she had been putting some work into it, as it looked much more spotless than it ever had in years. "I've done my chores, and more, while you were gone--- I wanted you to come home to absolute perfection, so you could, well," She put her arms behind her back, and gave a shy grin, "Celebrate, I suppose?" She said, in a questioning manner.

Bard was speechless for a moment, until all of Sigrid's words had sunken in entirely, and then, he could not stop himself from letting out a hardy chuckle, completely flabbergasted by what his daughter was saying to him. "I don't understand," He said, between laughs, and he walked over to the measly little table they had in the kitchen, which was done up much more nicely than usual, and Bard took a seat in front of it, his amused gaze still fixed on Sigrid all the while, "Why celebrate?" He asked.

Sigrid was beside him within moments, eagerly gliding across the kitchen floor to steal a seat right next to him, turning it so the back of it faced Bard, and Sigrid leaned against it in a girlish manner as she sat sideways, her long skirt draping over the chair. About her was a childlike eagerness that Bard hadn't seen in his daughter in many, many years, and although he was slightly happy, because of this, he was also just wondering why, until Sigrid finally spoke again. "It's been about three months since you've met your elf, Da! I know it's not much, but it's still a milestone in your relationship..." She explained.

And then, that was when it all sunk in, for Bard. Sigrid was under the impression that he and Thranduil were an item, a full-blown couple. It was no surprise that she had gotten that false idea from him, however--- after having spent a day with the elf, Bard usually returned home with a glow of happiness about him, that he had seldom carried before meeting Thranduil, and there was no doubt at all that Sigrid had noticed this, as she greeted her father with a bigger smile than usual on those days. She was obviously so happy for him, under the impression that he was finally able to find love again--- but, alas, it was not exactly as she had thought... Now, Bard only pondered how he was going to explain that to her, without crushing her spirits entirely?

One sigh from Bard was all it took for Sigrid to catch on, and realize that something was amiss. The grin dropped clean off of her face within seconds, and she leaned in closer to her father, a look of concern overtaking her features. "Da?" She asked, the worry now clear in her voice, "Have I said something wrong?"

Bard, who had kept his gaze averted moments ago, snapped up to look Sigrid right in the eyes, and he made an attempt to smile as he shook his head. "No, no! Everything is all right, dear, it's just..." He couldn't help but sigh again, and his gaze fell, almost shyly, to the floor, once more. "We are not exactly a couple..." He finished, awkwardly.

Sigrid let out a tiny gasp, and a hand flew to her face to cup over her mouth in an expression of shock. "Da, I..." When Bard looked up at her again, it was clear that she felt awful, either for him, or perhaps for the fact that now she was under the impression that she had hit some sort of sore spot. "I'm so sorry..." She barely whispered.

Now, Bard just felt possibly even more awkward--- he had mislead his own daughter twice in one night, clearly they had some communication issues to resolve. This entire exchange was clumsily put together, as a whole, and the only way that Bard now felt he could salvage it, was by letting out a low chuckle, if only to reassure his daughter that things were not as bad as they seemed. "No, Sigrid, love, that..." He paused, and rubbed his temple with that awkward grin absolutely plastered onto his face, as he struggled to find the words, "That isn't it, either! Things are fine between Thranduil and I..." He assured her.

Now, Sigrid just looked confused, and she sat up straighter as her eyebrows furrowed, her gaze fixed on Bard. "What do you mean?" She asked, "I do not want to sound intrusive, but... What exactly is going on between you two, if not a romance?"

Bard opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it when no words came out, as he found himself at a loss for them, and he momentarily thought of exactly what he and Thranduil had. The only thing that came to mind, when thinking about it intently enough, was the talk they had while lounging about the forest floor earlier that day--- about how, having a label for their relationship did not matter, so long as they were happy with it. At the thought, Bard mentally cursed the elf, thinking to himself: _A name would do me well, if it'd make explaining this to my own daughter any easier, you blasted elf!_

After a moment or two of drawn out silence, Bard looked at Sigrid again, and finally spoke, hoping now he would be able to formulate some sort of explanation. "Well, Sigrid..." He began, and he stammered, "He--- He and I are not, well, together, per se--- I-I mean, we kiss every now and then, and I bite him, too--- however..." He paused, and rested his face in the palm of his hand, feeling himself blushing furiously. Bard felt like such an embarrassment, unable to explain the most simplest of things to his smart, eldest daughter who would likely understand. "How do I put this...?!" He said, with a groan.

Sigrid could not help but giggle at her father's frustration, although that earned a glare from Bard's part. Finally, she decided that she should, perhaps, help him out, as she was able to pick up on the basic gist of what Bard was trying to get across, the point that he was trying to make. "So, what you're trying to say, is that..." She said, and she paused, wondering how to articulate her conclusion before continuing, and she met her father's eyes, "You do have feelings for him, but you just don't know what they may constitute as... Is--- Is that correct, Da?"

Bard allowed his daughters words to sink in, before nodding slowly, "Sounds about right." He agreed. Then, he leaned back in his chair, and let out an exasperated sigh, running one hand through his hair. "I really do wish I had a word for whatever we've got, but I just, I really don't." He said, sounding frustrated as all hell. "I'm sorry if I've disappointed you..." He trailed off in a murmur.

Sigrid offered her father a grin, in return, and she reached a hand over her chair to affectionately pat him on the shoulder, in an effort to comfort him. "It's alright if you can't name it, Da," She said, and she glanced at the floor in a timid manner, "Although... I do think it is love." She said, and she met her father's gaze again, all the while, Bard looked entirely bewildered at what she had just said. "I think it's just that, because... I have not seen you this happy, not since Ma." She concluded.

Bard furrowed his eyebrows, thinking about what his daughter had said to him, and also, thinking about the various ways that he could deny that statement. "Thranduil is absolutely breathtaking--- I do care for him as well, a-and I trust him very much, but..." He sighed, "What your mother and I had was different, Sigrid; I-I knew her ever since she and I were little, but _Thranduil_ , I've only known him for _three months!_ How can we possibly---"

"Love knows no boundaries," Sigrid interrupted, giving a very deadpan look in Bard's direction, before standing up from her chair, and walking towards the kitchen counter, where a pot and several bowls sat in preparation for something, "Could take three months, or even three years," She said, as she took a ladel from the pot, and poured lukewarm soup into two separate bowls in practiced, routine movements, "But, love can bloom." She continued, and it was clear that Sigrid was leaving drawn out pauses between her statements, to give them time to sink into her father's thick skull. All the while, she went about her tasks, grabbing both of the bowls of soup, and bringing them to the table, setting them down with a few spoons to accompany them. "You needn't take my word for it, however; I'm just a young girl, what do I know?" She said, in mock chastisement.

However, Bard knew his own daughter well enough to realize that she fully intended for her words to be taken seriously by her father, and that they were, as a matter of fact. Bard stood up from his chair very suddenly, causing it to reel backwards against the wooden floor with a very audible scrape, and as Sigrid's words sunk in, he realized all the more that she was wise beyond her years, and definitely not a force to be reckoned with. "You may be right, Sigrid," And as Bard spoke those fateful few words, his hands came up to his mouth in shock, perhaps at himself, or the fact that this particular realization--- that he may very well be falling in love with Thranduil the Elvenking--- was dawning upon him at a very, very fast rate. "By Valar, do you really think...?" He trailed off, his eyes wide and fixed on his daughter.

All the while, Sigrid was now grinning from ear to ear. "I knew you had a reason to celebrate." She said, and she put her hands on Bard's shoulders and urged him back into his seat, promptly sitting him down. "Now, sit. And eat. When do you see him next?" She asked.

Bard wanted to protest his daughter's commands and insist he was not hungry in the least, but upon laying eyes on the neatly prepared bowl of soup in front of him, he found himself gravitating towards it, grabbing for the spoon as he answered his daughter's question in an absent-minded daze, as he still reeled back from his realization. "He and I will meet again tomorrow," He answered. When Bard and Thranduil had first decided on their arrangement, they used to meet up only once a week, but now, the meetings nearly tripled in frequency as the two felt a need to spend more time together, and get to know each other.

"Good!" Sigrid said, with hands clasped together in front of her person, in a pleased manner, "You'll tell him tomorrow, then." She said, with a grin.

Sigrid's words just so happened to catch Bard midway through his first spoonful, and he found himself nearly choking on it, out of mere shock from the statement. He looked up at his daughter with wide, worried eyes." _Sigrid!_ I've only just now realized that I might love him!" He protested.

Sigrid only crossed her arms, puffing out her cheeks in a displeased manner, "You can't put this off, Da! Now that you know how you feel, it'll drive you absolutely mad not to tell him!" She explained, leaning over to give him a pat on the back. "Now hush. Eat your soup--- it's your favorite!" She said, with a wink.

Bard somehow kept himself from cursing under his breath, before turning his attention to the soup once again. Sigrid's strange knowledge on the topic of romance had another thought crossing his mind, however. "You speak of these things as though you know from experience, Sigrid..." He muttered, before glancing at her with his sly, signature grin, "Are there any boys I should know about, dear? I _am_ your father, after all," He said, in a teasing manner.

Sigrid opened her mouth to protest, but she only managed a few broken syllables out--- and Bard's grin only widened upon seeing her turn absolutely beet red from his remarks, before storming out of the kitchen without another word. Strangely pleased with himself for rendering his daughter speechless, he started again on the soup with a smirk, all the while figuring that he would need all the strength he could get, from food and a good night's sleep, if he was going to confess his feelings to Thranduil tomorrow morning.

Indeed, Bard would need to be as ready as possible--- and upon having another spoonful, he already began to feel more comfortable with his feelings, whether they were truly 'newfound' affection, or if they'd always been there, and he had not realized it, previous to now. Perhaps, this would not be so difficult, after all...

\-------------------------------------------

Bard was not ready. Not one bit. In this exact moment in time, he found himself placed into the literal definition of the opposite of readiness.

Undeniable proof of his nervousness was found in his supposed inability to steer his own barge down the river, on that particular day. He found his hands shaking and rattling with his nerves, like the autumn leaves on a tree, and Bard, usually being an expert in the field of sailing casually towards the river bank, found himself failing miserably at this endeavor, and nearly breaching several of the jagged rocks that peeked out from the water's surface.

With every misstep, he cursed silently. "Damn these nerves..." He muttered, and he thought to himself; _Who would have figured that falling in love was all it took, to forget years of experience on these waters?_ The bargeman was about to allow himself a sigh of exasperation, however, it quickly turned into that of relief when he finally saw the edge of the river bank in the near distance, after a rickety and displeasing ride that seemed to have gone on forever. "Finally!" He exclaimed, although in a hushed tone, so as not to startle the forest fauna nearby.

When he set foot onto the terrain of the land nearest to the river bank, right on the cusp of the forest before him, Bard took a moment to be thankful that he managed to make it this far, in one piece. As soon as that meager emotion washed away, he felt the nervousness return with a vengeance, and he paced helplessly back and forth as he contemplated what to do now, now that he was _here_ at last. He looked back at his boat, which lay nearby and rocked gently upon the river--- and every time the accursed means of transportation caught his eye, he contemplated very briefly whether to just return home, and give up on this endeavor entirely--- the thoughts causing him great frustration, and granting him a need to avert his eyes from the barge as soon as he could.

Indeed, Bard was the most nervous that he'd ever been in years, and this had caused him to become, suddenly, very scatter-brained. So scatter-brained, in fact, that he had not even noticed until a few minutes after he had arrived, that the Elvenking that he was looking for, was absolutely nowhere to be seen. And, upon this realization, Bard stopped pacing immediately, falling completely still and silent in his track, and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked in the direction of the thick woods and wilderness of Mirkwood, that lay just a few steps away from him. His nervousness was not forgotten entirely, but now, fear was added to the confusing and overwhelming concoction of emotions that the bargeman was experiencing, as he wondered where his elf could be.

Thranduil was never late. The last time that Bard could recall, that the elf had been late to their meetings, was so long ago, around the time when they had first met. Thranduil had stumbled out of those woods looking disheveled, and he was armed for attack. Indeed, the only time that Bard could recall that the elf had arrived late to meet him, was the only time he could recall that he had seen Thranduil in any sort of danger--- from something other than the bargeman's own bloodthirsty tendencies, at least.

As these thoughts ran through Bard's head while he eyed the forest ahead of him with great wariness, he realized that Thranduil may very well be in some sort of danger, in there, and this caused the man's heart to flutter with panic. It made sense! Why else would he be late, except for the very reason that he was under attack, or injured, or worse?! Bard tried his damnest to compose himself, and keep the worst of those sorts of thoughts out of his head, for his own sanity, as he swiftly turned back towards his barge, and reached for the bow and his arrows, that he kept just on the deck of the boat. If there was a possibility of Thranduil being in any sort of danger, (even if it was miniscule in comparison to his elven strength) then by Valar, Bard was going in to help him, this he swore upon.

Except, before Bard could even grab ahold of his arrows, and trudge on into the woods as a vengeful bowman, he swore he heard something come from said forest; the rustling of leaves, followed by the sound of two light feet landing behind him with a quiet 'thump', and finally, the stretching sound of a bow being drawn, directly behind him. A cold sweat erupted upon Bard's skin, and suddenly, he found himself not only fearing for Thranduil's life, but for his own, as well.

"I will not hesitate to kill you, bargeman," An unknown man--- or elf?--- said, from behind, and Bard's breath caught in his throat as he listened, "If you would dare to reach for those arrows, you will certainly find one of my own piercing you." The voice spat, menacingly.

Bard swallowed, and retracted his hands from his ship very slowly, raising them in the air to each side of him for the stranger to see, meaning this as a sign of innocence. He had no other weapons on him, his bow the only means of self defense he had managed to bring with him, on that particular day, and he felt really quite vulnerable. On the outside, he was solid steel, somehow managing to keep his composure, save for a few nervous tremors wracking his form, every now and then. On the inside, however, he was filled with fear, and wondering whatever he had done to deserve an arrow pointed to the back of his head. He thought, previously, that due to his relationship with the Elvenking, Bard would not have to fear occurrences such as these; but, obviously, that was not a correct assumption to make.

After several moments of remaining silent out of fear alone, Bard finally managed to choke some words out of himself, daring to speak to the predator behind him. "May I at least turn around, to face you?" He managed out; for he felt awfully uncomfortable having an enemy that he could not see, pointing an arrow at him from behind. True, either way he faced this stranger, Bard did have the chance of earning a rather painful, and possibly fatal, injury--- but he would rather know who, or what, he was exactly up against, before meeting a possible demise.

Bard received no verbal reply; however, at the sound of the bow being lowered, ever so slightly, he took that as a sign of acceptance of his request, and slowly, he turned around to face the man behind him, all the while keeping his hands up, and unmoving to each side of him... The sight that the bargeman was greeted with nearly had his jaw dropping in awe, and he felt a similar sense of wonder wash over him, akin to the first time that he spotted Thranduil watching him, from a distance between the trees. An elf stood before him, with golden hair, otherwise left loose if not for two small, intricate braids weaved throughout it, keeping the locks out of his face--- which was delicate in his features, although they carried a harsh sort of beauty in their angularity; and his eyes were a bright, familiar icy blue, if not a bit pale. The elf was garbed in earth tones, from his tunic to his boots, his attire having him appear more as though he frequented the forest, and Bard figured, for a moment, that perhaps he was one of the many elves that Thranduil sent out to take care of the spiders that infested the forest all too often.

However, what struck Bard the most, was the overall sense of familiarity he felt upon laying eyes on this elf; to him, all elves had an ethereal quality about them, but this one in particular possessed a regality as well, that, until now, Bard had only seen in one other person. "Who--- Are you...?" Bard stammered out, and he absent-mindedly lowered his hands ever so slightly.

The elf's response to this slight gesture was to raise his bow again and take on a combat stance, and Bard's hands shot up once more, as the point of an arrow was aimed precisely between his eyes. Still, he fixed his gaze on that of the elf before him, whose own eyes had grown dark, and predatory. "I am Legolas, son of Thranduil," The elf stated, and Bard could have sworn his heart stopped at the mention of the Elvenking's name, as he processed the information given to him; all the while, Legolas spoke, his tone dark and vengeful in a manner that Bard had not heard from any elf, before. "And, I am lead to believe that you have committed a great injustice towards my father." He stated, coldly.

A strange plethora of emotions filled Bard's mind in that moment; the first to rear its head was, of course, confusion. Bard had not met the only son of his elven friend, previous to this very moment; of course, Thranduil had mentioned him in casual conversation, once or twice throughout the course of their meetings--- however, the Elvenking seemed strangely intent on remaining secretive about his life in the Mirkwood--- or, perhaps, he was intent to keep _Bard_ a secret, keep him all to himself.

But, of course, Bard could not help but be caught slightly off guard by this first meeting--- awkward and distressing, as it was. Why would his first encounter with the elven prince, result in the bargeman at the offensive end of a bow and arrow? However, more importantly, and perhaps, the more primary and intense of Bard's sudden emotions--- that of which were fear, and anxiety--- had stemmed from a more alarming question that had come into his head, at that moment; what had happened to Thranduil? Had he really been the cause, of whatever misfortune to fall upon his elven friend?

The words began to topple clumsily out of Bard's mouth before he could even try to stop them. "Thran--- I mean, _the Elvenking,_ " He started, quickly correcting himself before he addressed Thranduil in such a casual manner (for the elven prince before him would certainly raise an eyebrow at such a statement) and Bard asked, "Is--- Is he alright?" And he could not stop the worry from creeping into his tone, shaking his voice in a manner that sounded weak, and vulnerable.

Somehow, the cold-hearted elf standing before Bard, found it somewhere within himself to only scoff at the bargeman's tone of voice, and tighten his grip on the bow. "Do not be daft with me, _vampire,_ " And the emphasis that the elf put on that horrid word, coupled with the mere mention of it, had all the blood draining from Bard's face within moments, as he felt himself pale. Despite the panic that was now very quickly overtaking every inch of his being, he somehow found himself still able to listen to Legolas, as he spoke. "I have seen with my own eyes, what you have been doing to my father, to the king of this realm; I've done my fair share of watching over these woods, as well," He narrowed his eyes, his glare growing ominous, and possibly even more menacing. "I care not for whatever enchantment you have put my father under--- to coerce him into allowing you to feed off of his _own blood;_ I only ask of you to put an end to it--- to do otherwise, would mean to face my wrath."

Bard struggled to think of an instance, in which the more monstrous side of him had deliberately tried to do harm to the elf that had grown so close to his heart--- and, save for the incident that occurred the first time he had bitten down into that milky flesh, his thoughts came up blank. He did not doubt that Legolas had discovered his darkest secret--- after all, if he was any sort of Prince of the Woodland Realm, he would definitely have been keeping a more watchful eye over the Mirkwood forest than any other elf, apart from Thranduil himself, that is. No, Bard would not bother denying the fact that he partially survived off of the blood of others, due to an insatiable thirst that burned constantly within him; he would not be in denial today, but he was still struggling to comprehend that he was supposedly responsible for any wrongdoing towards the Elvenking. That is, until...

Until Bard suddenly remembered their last meeting, just yesterday, beneath the forest, during the afternoon; and the bargeman cursed himself, blame and guilt setting in as he remembered feeding off of the elf that day. Suddenly, everything made sense, all at once. He _knew_ that Thranduil had appeared more pale than usual, after he had a drink from him; and now, something awful had happened to him, and Bard blamed his animalistic nature, and inability to control his thirst and just stop for once, for whatever harm had befallen his friend; although, that, he was still did not know the exact details of.

It was then that Bard dared to lock eyes with Legolas, who still stood defensively before him, the bow and arrow pointed in his direction, ready to pierce the bridge of Bard's nose at any given moment. Still, he took the chance, and tentatively begged a question; "I-I promise, I will not enter this forest again, if it would mean to keep your father safe from any sort of harm, for I truly do care for him deeply---" Legolas raised an eyebrow at the confession, coming from the supposed beast that he had his weapon aimed at, and this sign of bewilderment prompted Bard to carry on, "Doubt that as you may, but, I must ask of his well-being. Please, will you tell me?" _If your arrows are not the death of me, concern certainly will be,_ Bard wanted to add, but he kept those thoughts quietly to himself.

Legolas remained silent in front of Bard for a long while, his eyebrows furrowed as though he was still somewhat confused at Bard's words--- and certainly, he had the right to be. He was obviously put under the impression that he was here to confront some sort of bloodthirsty demon of a man; but, instead, he was met with a simple mortal man, who honed a great amount of care towards the King of the Woodland Realm. After awhile, Legolas lowered his bow, and he turned his back to Bard before speaking. "I still refuse to trust you; by all means, I may be mistaken not to kill you, right at this moment," He began, and he sighed, "However, if you are to stay true to your word, I suppose I will give you what you have asked for."

Bard nodded a bit too enthusiastically due to his nerves, despite the fact that Legolas' back was turned to him, and supposedly would not see. "I will not enter the forest to seek out your King; I will not even walk one step past the river bank, if you wish." He knew he would still have to return to the edge of the river for his work, and he would certainly have to hunt, every now and then--- however, he would stay away as far as needed, for as long as needed, not only to save his own skin, but to also save Thranduil of any harm done. Even if he would never see the elf's beautiful face again, or taste his starlight blood, Bard would take to those measures. The last thing he wanted to be, was a monster to Thranduil, whether the elf viewed him as one or not--- and suddenly, Bard could not wait another second, for the verdict on the Elvenking's state of being. "Please," He begged, his brows furrowed and his eyes pleading, despite that Legolas did not face him, "How is he?"

Legolas sighed again, and he sounded exasperated; Bard suddenly realized that he was probably not the only one worrying terribly for the Elvenking, at this moment, recalling that Legolas was Thranduil's son, of all people. If anything, he may have been worried for him moreso than Bard was. The bargeman had only been in Thranduil's company for a few months, which was nothing to an elf--- in contrast to the possible centuries that Legolas had been raised by the elf.

"My father... Ada... He is well." Legolas admitted, and Bard was about to heave a heavy sigh of utter relief, until his breath caught in his throat out of fear when the elf suddenly turned around to face him, his glare still plastered onto his face. "However, he was _not_ well, when we found him on the forest floor the night previous; he had lost a lot of blood, and his neck was littered with _your_ filthy marks, _vampire._ " The elven prince said, the word 'vampire' falling from his mouth as though it was a curse towards Bard; and certainly, he took it as such, backing away from the elf by a few steps, and covering his mouth, hiding any visibility of his fangs, out of complete shame. Still, Legolas' gaze was fixed on him in an intimidating manner. " _You_ did that to him, _you_ are responsible for it--- if we had not taken him into our care, immediately after..." He paused, glancing at the floor as pain laced his features, as though he did not want to continue such a gruesome statement.

Bard could not help but shake his head, slowly--- although his hands ceased to lower from his mouth. "Believe me when I tell you that I did not mean to hurt him---" He started, "It was--- it _is,_ the last thing I would ever want to do to him--- I did not intend---"

"But, you _have!_ " Legolas interrupted, his tone growing louder, and angrier, and he paused for a moment to solemn out, returning his icy gaze to Bard, and tilting his head, his eyes narrowed. "How can you even _bear_ to look at yourself in the mirror? Certainly, upon one glance, you must see what sort of monster you _really_ are." He stated, cold-heartedness seeping its way into his tone.

And, although Bard felt a sharp twinge of hurt, and offense, at those words coming from the only son of the elf who he had fallen for so dearly, he did not even bother to object against such a bold statement. If anything at all, Legolas spoke the truth--- not to mention if Bard was hurt by what had befallen Thranduil, then Legolas carried those very same feelings, tenfold. The elven prince had all the right to allow his emotions, his anger, to creep its way into his tone, without restraint.

The two faced off against each other in mutual silence for a moment, as Legolas slowly but surely came down from his outburst. Then, he scoffed in disgust towards Bard, and turned on his heel, back towards the forest. "Leave this place, bargeman. Run far, _far_ away from here...." He paused for a moment, glancing back over his shoulder towards Bard, and the darkness to his glare had a shiver running up Bard's spine, "To do otherwise, would only serve to invoke my anger upon you." And upon that final word, he started off towards the forest, disappearing into the thick woods within moments.

Bard stood there, in shock, for what felt like a century to him, after Legolas had run off, returning into the forest that the elf called home. Some amount of time close to several minutes must have passed right on by, before Bard finally processed everything that had just happened, all the words that he had exchanged, all the terrible, horrible emotions that had run through his every being--- and, as he practically dragged his feet towards his boat, desperately willing them to move, despite the unbelievable state of depression that was befalling him at this very moment--- Bard was completely certain of two facts.

The first fact was plain and simple as day; He was a _monster_. A filthy, man-eating, blood-sucking, night-crawling monster. He was the beast that worried mothers warned their children of before bed, the reason for the seemingly petty superstitions of common men--- the very superstitions that had turned out to be true, and Bard was proof of that. It saddened him to be brought to this realization, after coming so close to suppressing it, denying it, forgetting about it entirely, when he was with Thranduil, and that brought him to another realization, another fact.

The second obvious fact, was that Bard would not see the elf again. He now knew that he was a danger to Thranduil, and one day, perhaps, if he were to stay with him, there would come a time when Bard would no longer be able to hold back, no longer be able to suppress his thirst, and control himself enough to keep from absolutely sucking every inch of the elf dry from that cherry red, honey sweet liquid that Bard yearned for so desperately. If he had really done so much damage to the elf already, there would be a day when he just might kill him--- and that was what Bard feared the most. He could not lose Thranduil, and that was exactly why he now knew, that he had to stay away.

He was about to hop back onto his barge, and sail off down the river back to his home in Laketown, so he could lock himself in his room and stay there for as long as he was able to--- but this was all halted suddenly, when he heard the sound of something rustling beneath the trees, coming from the forest, and he immediately stopped in his tracks. He desperately hoped it was not Legolas, returning to put Bard to his death, after changing his mind as to whether he should kill him or not--- but, regardless, the bargeman turned around hesitantly. Whatever his fate were to be, by the end of this day, he would accept it...

... But, instead, he was met with a small rabbit, that had likely just bounced out of the forest from beneath the bushes, and on any other day, Bard would have been met with a feeling of delight, at the sight of such a small, innocent woodland creature stood before him. However, today was not any other day, let alone was it a good day for the beast within Bard; suddenly, he felt very much in the mood to drink his sorrows away, while he still had the opportunity to.

Bard reached for his bow and quiver. He drew an arrow, aiming it precisely, and after years of practice and skill built up, he knew he would not miss, even before he shot the rabbit dead in its tracks, not even allowing it one moment, one chance to escape.

He did not dare to think of how much of a monster he was, for bringing such a fate upon an innocent creature--- much like how he had tainted the beautiful, ethereal and pure Elvenking with his touch, and his bites, ruining the perfect pale whiteness of his skin with his hideous marks. No, Bard did not even dare to think about any of this, even as he walked towards the rabbit, which was still clinging to the last few breaths of life it had within itself, before the Bard mustered up the strength to put an end to it all, pulling his arrow out from the animal's flesh, kneeling down by his prey and grabbing it, bringing the creature up to his mouth and biting deeper into the wound that he had left.

For a moment, he forgot of his worries, his guilt, his sorrows and all of his troubles, as he felt the warm blood drain into his mouth; although it still had not satisfied him. His standards were now much higher than they had ever been, after prolonged exposure to the delectable, and unforgettable, taste of elven blood. Still, he did manage to achieve a satiable high, from the animal's blood on his tongue, and he did feel very vaguely sated after he had emptied the creature, and tossed its bare carcass aside.

He thought about how he would have to get used to this sort of life, again, if he were to stop seeing Thranduil, and although it still pained Bard to pull himself away from the elf, if it meant the elf's safety, then he knew he could manage; for he valued that, more than anything. The bargeman was so caught up in his thoughts, that even as he stood up from his kneeling position on the terrain, he barely registered the sound of quiet, but certain footsteps from behind him; and he hardly had any time to turn around and face a possible enemy, before he took a sudden, harsh blow to the back of his head.

He fell to the ground, his ears ringing painfully, and he strained to have a clear and steady path of vision, as he rolled over on his side to have a look at whomever, or whatever, had assaulted him. Stood above him were two men, who he hardly recognized through blurry eyes, save for the wicked grins on both of their faces; and they were speaking horrid words over him, that only sounded muffled upon his ears, as his vision was consumed, and he fell into a darkness unlike any other.


	2. Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jEEZ THIS TOOK AWHILE. life kicked my ass x_x but at any rate im finishing this shit.  
> enjoy, fellow shipping trash u_u <3

When Thranduil woke up, his head was pounding, and he was promptly greeted by a blinding light.

He squinted to adjust his vision, and ease the painful throbbing in his head, to little or no avail--- the light from the open window indicated that it must have been early in the day. How long had he been asleep for? Last he recalled, it was late in the middle of the night, where had the time gone? And how had he gotten here---

_Oh._

As soon as consciousness finally began to hit the elf at full force, so did a flood of memories, accompanied by feelings of pain, fear, and most importantly, humiliation--- for the first two feelings were ones that he, in his thousands of years of living, was very much accustomed to. It was the last that hit him hardest, given the circumstances that he had supposedly found himself in, just that very night.

Regaining the feeling in his limbs, he reached a hand up to cover his eyes from the blinding light, pinching the bridge of his nose in agony. " _Idiot._ " He hissed, for that was the only word he could find to appropriately describe his misguided actions. Certainly, he had a valid reason to forget his own body's limits--- and thus, forget how much blood he would have to lose, to find himself falling into unconsciousness in the middle of the forest, of all places, but nonetheless, it was still humiliating how utterly neglectful he had been. If Bard were to find out, he would be worried _sick_ \---

Thranduil paused for a moment, his thoughts ended there, and his eyes shot open. _Bard._ He needed to see him, he figured that he would be waiting on the river bank for him, perhaps pacing back and forth as neurotic thoughts of what could have happened to the Elvenking to cause such an absence, filled the human's head, and immediately Thranduil couldn't bear it, he just could not put his human through such an experience; and thus he _needed_ to see him, but he was so far away... Or, at least, Thranduil assumed.

His assumption would be right, as he had finally regained enough of his eyesight to glance briefly around at his surroundings. He was greeted with the familiar sight of his chambers, the room illuminated by the light of day. He then looked down at himself, and found that he was rested on his bed--- dark, wine red colored bedsheets in stark contrast against his pale form, as well as the bandages that covered him. The palace healers must have taken great care of him, while he was asleep, for every inch of his skin that was previously covered in a bite mark, was now masked with white bandages. Indeed, every wound on his person was hidden from sight, except...

The Elvenking looked down at his left arm, the very same arm that was covered in scars made from dragon's fire--- that of which would not go away. They had been plastered onto his body for several centuries now, and there they would stay for several more. He brought his hand up to the side of his face, running his fingers gently over the flesh, reddened and exposed by the flames, and he hissed mildly in pain, his eyes shut.

" _Disgusting,_ " He muttered, and he set his hand down, having it fall and rest at his side. The healers hadn't even bothered to cover up _those_ scars--- seeing as it was pointless; they were wounds that would never heal. Despite this, however, he almost wished they had bandaged them, anyway. He didn't want to see them, especially with what had happened to him the night previous--- it was just rubbing salt on the wound.

And as his thoughts returned to what he had undergone the night before, he thought of Bard--- he had found himself frequently thinking of him, these days, but never before had he dared to think of what the bargeman would do, what he would say, if he were to see those disgusting wounds on his otherwise pristine and pure elf. Thranduil feared that, even the vampire within Bard, might decide to refuse to drink from him ever again, not wanting to hurt him any further. Thranduil did not want that to happen. He did not want Bard to think that he was weak.

 _Except, I am weak,_ He thought, laying down on his bed, motionless and defeated and staring up at the ceiling, his tremendous headache luring him away from staring directly out the window, as he had been previously doing. He now realized that, if Bard were to have word of what had happened to the Elvenking, just because he lost a bit of blood, he would certainly appear as nothing but weak and fragile to the bargeman, and right now, those words definitely reigned true to describe how he felt at the moment. He was too weak to move, too weak to get out of this blasted palace and find his bargeman--- and, he was even too weak to put up his facade, and cover up his scars. What did it matter, anyway? He was all alone...

And he remained that way, in that position, and in that state of hopelessness and regret and humiliation, until the sound of the door to his chambers creaking open had him sat upright again, and he strained to put up his illusions--- it caused his head to pound even moreso, and his body to feel weaker than ever, but his attempts were successful and he had to look like this, he couldn't let anyone see him looking so ruined.

Not even his own son, the Prince of the Greenwood, who had just so happened to enter his room at that very instant. Given their relationship, which could be described at distant, at best, the two of them both exchanged a stoic nod, but Thranduil was able to read his son past that glance. He could see the relief in the younger elf's eyes, as he pressed a hand to his chest and approached his father.

"You're awake," Legolas stated, and he walked up towards the bedside, crossing his arms. "Do you feel alright?" He asked, delicately, as though the mere question sounded asinine, rather than concerned.

Thranduil so badly wanted to tell his son the truth, he wanted to be able to express his feelings, and say that his head was _pounding_ and his stomach was _aching_ and he wanted nothing to just crawl into a tiny, dark space and disappear forever, he felt like a damn _fool_ for the situation that he had put himself in, the pain and worry that he had caused to those that he cared for deeply, due to his own neglect... But he had to stay silent about all of this. What kind of example would he be setting for Legolas, if he were to speak his mind? "Yes," He replied, simply, although the lie felt venomous and bitter as it left his lips. He only hoped his son could not read him as easily.

The younger elf seemed to have bought the blatant lie, giving a sigh of relief. "Good, that... That's good." He said, allowing, just for a moment, his feelings to be seen by his father--- and, seeing how worried Legolas appeared to have felt for the Elvenking, Thranduil almost felt a little bit of guilt, knowing he had just told a lie to his son--- whom his relationship with was already broken enough as it was.

Still, he managed to shrug off the sour feelings in a matter of seconds, and he glanced over his son briefly. Thranduil noticed the elf's attire--- he appeared as though he had just been out, and he clearly still had his bow and quiver with him; however, the Elvenking couldn't recall issuing out an order to hunt down any spiders in the vicinity--- and he certainly could not have done so while he was asleep--- so why did the elven prince need to be armed, as he was?

Thranduil furrowed his brows, questioning, "You look as though you've been out venturing somewhere," He stated, but did not ask, for the statement in itself would serve as a question to receive an answer to.

Thus, it did, and Legolas' eyes narrowed, and he suddenly looked rather smug. "I may have just driven off a certain blood-drinker from our realm," He replied, smugly, "He will not be feeding off of you, or any other elf, for that matter, ever again."

At that very moment, Thranduil's breath hitched, and he could have sworn that his heart stopped beating right then and there--- he was overcome with fear, however he tried to mask it to the best of his ability. He suddenly had so, so many questions, but most of them would be too revealing of the odd relationship he had with the supposed predator that his own son had driven away. He wanted to ask if the Prince had killed the vampire, or if he had simply told him to leave, or maybe even threatened him--- and more importantly, he wanted to know the details of how he found Bard in the first place. Just how close of a watchful eye had the young elf been keeping on these woods? How much had he seen?

Again, none of this was made vocal, and instead Thranduil only managed one short, shaky question; "How can you be so sure of that?" He asked, and he tried his damnest to keep the worry out of his tone.

"Well, I didn't kill him," Legolas started, and that statement alone was enough to bring some sort of relief to Thranduil's mind, although he still felt wary as he continued to listen to the younger elf. "He is, still, but a man of Laketown--- therefore it wouldn't be very wise of an elf to murder him. I merely threatened him, and that was enough to send him off on his own affairs. Whatever happens to him now, is not our problem." He said, and then he paused, raising an eyebrow. "Should I have killed him, Ada?" He asked.

" _No!_ " Thranduil practically shouted, panic flooding his being at the mere thought of Bard being brought to death. After the sudden outburst, he quickly composed himself, and cleared his throat. "No," He repeated, in a quieter tone, this time.

In response, Legolas was silent--- he looked taken aback by his father's actions, and his brows furrowed with suspicion. "Are you certain that you're feeling alright? I could fetch you some water---"

"That--- _Yes,_ " Thranduil interrupted, his gaze averted. He was thankful for his son's offer--- it was the most opportune way to get him out of his chambers without coming off as even more suspicious, and begging even more questions. "I would like that very much." He said, quietly.

Legolas gave a small smile towards his father as he slowly backed away from the bedside--- worry was still clear as day in his expression, though it had a very valid reason to be. As he turned to walk out of the room, without any other word, or even a farewell, Thranduil could have sworn an eternity had passed because he was suddenly feeling very much against his patient elven nature, and he wanted his son out of the room as soon as possible so he could break down in peace.

He did not even bother to glance up at his son, as he heard the doors shut to his chambers once more, and the Elvenking allowed a few moments of silence to pass, out of cautiousness, before slumping over and resting his head in his hands, as he began to shake. " _Idiot..._ " He muttered, for that was all he felt like he was, and all he would ever be. It had all gone wrong, it had all crumbled down, and now, because of him, and his unintelligent decisions, Bard could be under the impression that he was hated by the elf, although that was not the case at all.

Thranduil felt as though, he was the one who was supposed to be in control, he was supposed to be the one to take hold of the strange relationship he had with the blood drinker, and steer it towards a safer path--- but he had failed. He glanced up briefly from his hands, where he had hid his face in shame, and he looked towards the bright window, fully realizing just how much at fault he was.

It was then, that he knew he had to fix this, and he had to do it quickly; but how?

\-------------------------------------

When Bard woke up, he was greeted by darkness so deep, that it took him a moment to register that his eyes were even open to begin with. His head was also throbbing painfully, and he felt as though he had been mauled, which may as _well_ have been the truth.

He found that he was laying down on a cold, hard slab of some sort--- and he promptly tried to sit up to get a better look at his surroundings, only to very quickly discover that he was tied, held down--- bound to the slab by something, perhaps heavy ropes, by the way they made his wrists and ankles burn with every movement. His eyes widened, and he struggled, and that was when the panic set in. Just _what_ in the Hell was going on?!

His struggles to break free from his bounds were futile--- his fangs may have been sharp enough to break the ropes, but as fate would have it, he was unable to sit up, and crane his neck just enough to even reach the ropes to start with. After realizing that he was in quite a hopeless situation, Bard fell limp, tired and breathing heavily from his useless attempts at achieving freedom. He shut his eyes again and sighed, as though his tightly clamped eyelids would provide a difference in his already darkened surroundings.

 _Please, let this be a nightmare..._ He thought to himself, and he dared to open his eyes again, as if the scenario would change with one blink. He looked around, again, for any light source at all. _How in the world did I get here?_ He pondered, aimlessly.

Suddenly, his eye caught the dim light of midday directly in his peripheral--- he couldn't turn to face it directly, from the position he was kept in, but he concluded that it must be a small window, of some sort. Perhaps he was being held captive in a basement--- a confined space, easily hidden, that none would dare to look for him in. And, as Bard pondered this, he began to register voices, conversing directly above him--- accompanied by footsteps, and the sounds served as just enough to confirm his suspicions of being trapped in a basement.

Bard remained still, and as quiet as possible--- to the point that he nearly stopped breathing for a moment, just to listen clearly to the voices above. Needless to say, what he heard from them, had all his memories from earlier in the day rushing back to him at full force.

 _"So what do we do with the bloody monster now? Kill him, and parade his corpse around town?"_ Bard's stomach sank at the proposal.

 _"You blummin' idiot, we need not scare the townspeople more!"_ A second voice said, _"He's a_ vampire _\--- just put him out in the sun and he'll shrivel up like a raisin!"_

_"You're the idiot--- he was in the sun when we caught him, an' he didn't look like no raisin to me!"_

_"Agh, never mind it, then--- just leave 'im down there, let him starve, then we'll find out what to do with him..."_

Bard could vaguely register the sound of two pairs of footsteps walking off--- just before they disappeared into an inaudible nothingness once more, however, he heard one voice say, in a smug tone, _"Wait 'till the Master hears about this--- we'll be swimmin' in riches!"_

That, alone, was enough for Bard to realize, at least very vaguely, exactly what had happened to him, and the realization dawning upon him was accompanied with a bitter panic. He knew that the Master's spies had been keeping a closer eye on him than usual--- but he hadn't thought they'd seen _that_ side of him. If that was the case, then whomever those two voices belonged to must have been the spies that assaulted him earlier, just after he had a nasty encounter with a bow and arrow belonging to a certain Mirkwood elf...

And speaking of that, _by Valar,_ Bard did not even want to _think_ about that unfavorable turn of events--- it brought a stress unlike any other weighing down heavily on his chest, and considering the situation he was in currently, he already had enough on his plate as it was. This is too much... He thought, as his entire being was consumed with a feeling of utter hopelessness, and the bargeman considered, momentarily, just giving up then and there...

The only reason that he was opposed to doing so, was due to the fact that he still had a very human family of three young children to look after--- despite being a monster himself. If it were not for Bain, Tilda, and Sigrid having such an important place in his heart, then he would certainly resign to his fate, and allow himself and his monstrous existence to be put to death without a second thought--- but no, he couldn't, what kind of father would he be?

True, he may have very possibly lost the affection of the Elvenking from his life--- that of which may have served as one of his reasons to wake up in the morning, as of late; however, that did not mean that Bard had lost all reason. He still had another--- and that was his family. He needed to stay alive for them, and so he would not give up, he would fight for them until his dying breath... ...

These thoughts, unfortunately, had done absolutely nothing to change the fact that he was still trapped, with absolutely no visible or attainable means of freedom, in a semi-unknown location, by the spies that he detested so very much. Indeed, the odds were definitely against him; but, if one fact was for certain in his mind, it was that he couldn't be left alone in this cold, dark space forever. It may take a few hours, or it may take a day, but Bard knew very well that someone would come down for him, even if they did not mean well at all--- and this was the only thought keeping his eyes open, and his heart determined.

\----------------------------------------------------

The wind whistled and blew thickly through the trees, causing red autumn leaves to fall to the ground, and as Thranduil walked through the forest, he felt as though the harsh wind was already telling of a disturbance, that something was very, _very_ wrong.

With every step, the hood on his dark cloak was being blown backwards and off of his head--- he had to keep adjusting it, a mild annoyance given the situation, but he hadn't the time to care all too much about it; all he knew was that he needed to get to the river, and possibly, to Laketown. He hadn't the faintest clue where Bard could be, right now--- he was hardly used to leaving the security of his palace for any reason, let alone for a simple mortal--- but the Elvenking knew that he had to find Bard and right what was wrong. He knew he would lose him eventually, but he couldn't bear to lose him so soon--- let alone like _this._

He still wore his bandages, as he hadn't had time to remove them when making his quick and hasty escape from his chambers--- he had, however, put on something more decent in terms of leaving the palace, but nothing so ornate to expose his identity easily, assuming he were to enter Laketown. He also carried with him a small, elven blade in case he were to encounter a situation that required combat--- and over all of this, he wore a dark cloak to disguise his identity. Indeed, probably no one that he would run into would recognize who he was, without having to do a double take, at the very least...

... Nobody, for except his son, who he had not realized had been following him until he heard a very worried voice shouting "Ada!" From behind him--- and Thranduil glanced over his shoulder at the forest, to see Legolas dashing after him. The Elvenking averted his gaze instantly, cursing under his breath and quickening his pace.

Nevertheless, Legolas caught up to him in a matter of a few moments. "Ada," He repeated, causing Thranduil to stop in his tracks--- he'd roll his eyes if that weren't such a common thing to do, but instead, he paused to listen to his son, his back still turned to the younger elf. "I noticed you were missing from your chambers, and--- I--- just what is going on?" Legolas asked, and Thranduil noticed he sounded rather worn out, perhaps physically and emotionally, and he almost felt guilty for being unable to face his own son, and running away from his own kingdom for the affection of a man who would probably not even live long enough to return the elf's feelings--- by all means, it was illogical, and irresponsible, and yet...

He felt as though he had to do it, he needed to take these actions, or he would never be able to live to the fullest again. Despite that he was experiencing emotional turmoil on the inside, Thranduil somehow managed to keep a steady and stoic tone when he spoke to his son. "Turn back, Legolas," He said, and he shut his eyes, absolutely hating that he had to do this, "Leave me be---"

" _No,_ " Legolas replied all too quickly, and he sounded determined--- or, perhaps, was that just anger? "I will not stand idly by as you run off on your own, for whatever reason!" He continued, thus confirming that it was definitely anger behind his tone, which only grew more heated as he kept speaking. "For Valar's sake, do not tell me you are running after that--- that _monster!_ Ada, what has gotten into you?" He asked.

The defiant behavior coming from his son was beginning to inch its way onto Thranduil's nerves--- which, normally, he'd have a decent time keeping in check, but due to how emotionally compromised he was on this particular day, he couldn't help but snap. He turned to face Legolas with an expression that carried mild anger and a disciplining exterior, ready to chastise his son. "You heard me correctly, did you not?" He asked, and his tone was darkened significantly, "Would you dare to defy me? Go back to the Palace, now."

For a moment, Legolas looked as though he was intimidated by his father--- how he towered over him so easily, and was above him in all aspects, figuratively and literally; and, given the anger that was subtly painted over his expression, Legolas would be correct to assume that the Elvenking was a force to be reckoned with--- and, yet, the prince stood his ground. "I said, _no._ " He repeated, "Ada, speak to me as though I am your son, not your underling, and tell me what has happened. This is not like you at all..." He said, and he allowed the concern to shine through his tone as his voice softened significantly.

In turn, this allowed Thranduil's demeanor to soften in his son's presence, and all too quickly he looked, and felt, extremely vulnerable. Everything felt all too _wrong_ today, as though the thick walls that Thranduil had built up, all these years, were finally crashing down, and as he turned his back to his son to ponder this, he realized he did not like the unfamiliar feelings that this day had brought to him. He felt something that he had not felt in centuries, something that he would not like to admit to feeling; he felt _nervous_.

Legolas was still speaking, and Thranduil remained caught up in his thoughts for a moment, listening only just enough to pick up on one particular statement. "Ada, say something to me! It is almost as though you are not yourself today---"

"I am more of myself," Thranduil interrupted, "Than I have been in centuries, _ion nîn_." The elf said, and, instantly feeling a deep sense of regret for admitting that much about himself, he instantly felt the need to provide an explanation. "It is understandable that you would not realize such a thing..." He offered.

To that, Legolas became confused. Thranduil still faced away from the younger elf, but judging by the tone of his voice, the Elvenking could assume he had taken on a questioning look, brows furrowed. "What do you mean by that?" Legolas asked.

Thranduil sighed deeply before speaking, wondering for a brief moment if he would hate himself later for what he was about to say. "You were just a boy, Legolas." He explained simply.

That was all the explanation it took for realization to dawn upon the younger elf, and his eyes widened in visible shock as he thought. "Ada... Do you mean...?" He said, almost meaning to pose a question, but he would not dare to. It was all too obvious that the Elvenking spoke in reference to his late wife, whom of which he seldom brought up; but for him to do so in this instance... The answers were now all too clear to Legolas, and he realized that, whatever his father was up to, even if it involved going after that stranger, it was extremely important to him. And, after a few moments, Legolas also came to a second realization, and a deep sense of guilt began to pool in the pit of his stomach. "Was I _wrong_ to turn that man away?" He asked, quietly.

Thranduil said nothing in reply, he did not even dare to--- he was already an emotional wreck on the inside, but the mere action of speaking of his late queen, and all the memories that surfaced all too suddenly with that action--- all the sadness and fear bubbling up within him was threatening to spill over, and he couldn't let that happen in front of his son, it would be extremely unbecoming of him to do so. Instead, he only stood in silence, his back facing Legolas, and he hoped that the younger elf would understand his reasons and leave him be, rather than staying around to pose more questions...

It would seem that Legolas knew his father all too well--- for a few short moments of silence passed between the two of them, before Legolas let out an exasperated sigh, and Thranduil could hear him turning away and walking back towards the forest; the Elvenking glanced over his shoulder to watch his son leave him, and although he knew the younger elf far too well, to assume that this was the last he would see of him--- for a moment, he wished desperately that their relationship wasn't so severed, and that he could be honest and open with him again, as he was before...

Thranduil shook those thoughts off quickly--- he didn't need that, definitely not today of all days. What he needed to do now was move forward; Bard was out there, whether he was in the forest or in Laketown, and he needed to find him and be honest with _him,_ if he couldn't keep that sort of honesty with his own kin.

As he approached the river bank, the stress and sadness that came with confronting Legolas was replaced by an entirely new stress, upon laying eyes on a very familiar barge, which stood vacant on the river, bobbing up and down with the waves, and Thranduil practically paled. He emerged from the thick forest and glanced around, but his bargeman was absolutely nowhere in sight, and it was causing him to worry more than he ever had today.

 _He would not just leave it here, would he?_ Thranduil pondered--- he would call out Bard's name if that wasn't an utterly asinine thing to do, given the monsters and fiends that lurked in the woods just behind him. Instead, he looked out onto the river's edge, and as the wind blew through his silvery hair and pushed his hood back yet again, the Elvenking realized he needed to venture further than he'd like to.

\---------------------------------------------

"Da's been gone awhile, hasn't he?"

Sigrid and Tilda sat by the window in their tiny Laketown home; the eldest of the two ran her gentle fingers through her younger sister's dark locks, braiding them skillfully, but this was merely a distraction--- her mind was elsewhere, in dark, worrying places.

"Mm..." Sigrid responded as an affirmative to her younger sister's inquiry. Indeed, her father had been gone awhile, and it was starting to cause worry to pool in the pit of her belly, and stress caused her heart to palpitate in an unfavorable manner. He had left earlier in the day and, judging by the color of the autumn sky, it was nearly becoming evening. He would not be gone for this long, not without an explanation--- she could only hope that nothing horrible had happened, but as of late, nowhere was safe for her father. There were monsters in the woods that he often frequented, and the Master and his spies were always watching him...

Her thoughts were interrupted when Bain stumbled into the living room to join his sisters, as though he was on cue. In his hand he carried a makeshift bow, although it looked cheap, and rugged, as though it were to fall apart after one use, or less! "Think I should go out and look for him?" Bain asked, holding up his bow, and his face looked determined to finish the job, but every bit of his demeanor said otherwise. For instance, he was still in his nightclothes--- being a young boy meant that he could get away with that, when his father wasn't around.

Sigrid couldn't help but stifle laughter. "You look ridiculous, you aren't going out like that." She concluded, as she finished braiding Tilda's hair, and she stood up from the chair by the windowsill to approach her brother, who looked downtrodden at his older sister's order. "We don't need more trouble as it is, Bain. I understand, I'm worried for Da as well, but---"

Suddenly, Tilda crept up behind her sister and interrupted her, standing in between Sigrid and Bain. She looked up at the eldest, worry clearly written on her face. "Do you think he's okay?" She asked, her tiny voice slightly shaken.

Sigrid opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it and sighed when she realized that she had no answer. On one hand, their father was strong, and he could handle himself, but on the other... She just did not know, and Sigrid knew that she could not provide that as a viable response for both of her younger siblings--- such a reply would only serve to worry them even moreso. Instead, she forced a weak, but reassuring smile onto her face. "How about I go out and look for him?"

Bain's eyebrows furrowed in irritation. "Why can't _I_ go?" He asked, sounding more as though he wanted to look for an adventure, and less as though he was genuinely worried for his father.

Sigrid put a hand on her younger brother's shoulder, silencing him, "You'll be the man of the house while I'm gone, since Da isn't here--- and I need you to watch over Tilda, alright?" She figured that allowing Bain this position of temporary power would placate him, for now, and as the eldest of the house, and the most responsible, she figured it was her duty to go out and find her missing father. What kind of older sibling would she be, if she were to allow her younger siblings to be put in that sort of danger? Indeed, this was _her_ duty, and hers alone.

After receiving an indifferent yet accepting "Alright," from Bain, Sigrid scurried off to her room to retrieve her satchel, and a coat to combat the autumn wind, and she hurried out the door, but not before giving both of her siblings a reassuring kiss on the cheek, telling them over and over that she would be alright, and she would find Da and bring him home, but as soon as she stepped outside into the cold, harsh world, and shut the door behind her, she felt herself about ready to sink to her knees.

She hadn't the _faintest_ what she was going to do, besides run into town looking awfully worried, calling out for her father like some scared, lost child, but that was all too revealing, lest the Master's spies were to see her, if they hadn't gotten a hold of Bard already, that is... Quickly, she swallowed those disgusting thoughts down, and she hurried off into town as darkness began to fall upon the lake.

\--------------------------------------

It was not until Thranduil stepped foot into Laketown that evening, that a realization hit him; decades of isolation in the Greenwood had caused him to forget what it was like to walk among a crowded setting.

Certainly he had not been entirely isolated _all_ those years, however--- that would be absurd. Rather, whenever he did leave his kingdom, he was almost always accompanied by an entourage of guards, and he would never fail to carry a royal presence about him as well; such a presence that would have thick crowds parting to make way for him, while other common folk sunk to their knees in astonishment and awe.

Indeed, Thranduil was all too accustomed to being worshiped among others--- it allowed him a temporary confidence boost that would provide aid in masking his anxiety, putting up the facade just long enough to stand being among a crowd without going absolutely mad... However, on this day, he was alone. He had abandoned his guards, left his crown behind, and the mere thought of attempting to blend in with the people of Laketown as a commoner had his heart pounding hard in his chest, and his knees feeling weak, threatening to buckle and have him fall.

That was why, instead of getting straight to the core of his problems and trying to track Bard down as soon as he had entered the dreary town, Thranduil had taken to hiding in a dark, damp alleyway, as though he had forgotten that he was an Elvenking with thousands of years to his name, instead reverting to a state of mind similar to a scared and timid child, in an unfamiliar setting. His behavior was exactly that--- _childish,_ as he would peek out from the alleyway every now and then and glance at the crowd of unfavorable specimens that inhabited the town before him, deciding at one point or another that he was going to accomplish his goals and leave this hiding place and maybe, just _maybe,_ his hood wouldn't fall down and no one would stare at him--- and every time he thought he could do it, he would fail.

As time seemed a different concept altogether for elvenkind, Thranduil must have been caught in those very sort of actions for a good half an hour--- an amount of time, he thought, that would seem appalling to a mortal man--- and, the more that the elf thought of mortal men, the more his mind wandered to Bard, and where he could be, and how much _damn time_ was being _wasted_ worrying about useless, trivial things, time that _could_ be spent looking for Bard, because Bard was a mortal and he did not have all the time in the world to wait for Thranduil to come and save him--- and such thoughts had Thranduil's heart racing so fast with nervousness that he felt physically ill and he was _fed up---_

He shut his eyes, and let out a heavy sigh, followed by a string of mumbled curses in elvish--- he was being ridiculous right now, and his damn heartbeat! "For Eru's sake, _be still!_ " He whispered quietly, chastising himself for reacting to this entire day in such a manner. In the back of his mind, he thought that now he could finally dispel the rumors that he was cold, lifeless, and heartless--- that was all an act, and how he was feeling at this very moment was proof enough of that.

_'Help...'_

Thranduil's eyes remained shut tightly in exasperation, coupled with a millionth attempt to calm down, until he heard a rather unnerving sound off in the distance, far enough that only his pointed ears would have been able to pick up on it, and his eyes shot open. He thought for a moment, among the monotone chatter of the crowded town, he heard a voice struggling from afar, and he pondered for a moment, if that was a regular occurrence beyond his palace walls. Secondly, he pondered if that voice belonged to a person who was about to be hurt, or worse--- and he suddenly felt very, very pained at the thought of one mortal ending another mortal's life long before it needed to be ended--- their lives were short enough as it were, who would be so heartless?

_'Help me...'_

The final thought that had Thranduil break from his frozen position and repetitive thoughts, was the mere idea of what Bard would think of him if the elf were to leave this disembodied voice to struggle all alone, despite the fact that only his ears, his heightened senses, were able to pick up on the scattered calls for help which, to a man, were entirely silent--- but to Thranduil, they were all too audible, echoing off the walls of the alleyway with ease. That was the thought that finally lead him down the alleyway...

_'Help me, oh Gods, please!!'_

As Thranduil stormed down the narrow passage with great determination, his pace quickened as he caught sight of the end of it--- in the meantime, the voice became more and more audible, their desperate struggled ringing painfully in his ears. By the time he had reached the light at the end of the alley, he was careful to be silent as he crept closer, just enough to glance from the corner of the walls surrounding him, and there, he found a dark, isolated clearing between buildings...

And, in the dead center of the clearing stood a man, unflattering and thug-like in appearance, as well as tall and bulky in stature--- in one strong arm, he had a teenage girl firmly grasped in a headlock; despite being absolutely no match for her opponent, she struggled ceaselessly against his grasp, as though she were fighting for her life. Upon closer examination, Thranduil realized she very well may be fighting for that very purpose, as the brutish man who had her captive in one arm, carried a sharp, glistening dagger in his opposite hand. As the young girl let out a final, panicked, "Help me, _please!!_ " towards someone, anyone that would be able to hear her, the man had his weapon raised for a silencing blow...

Time, which was normally moving at a constant, quickening pace for the Elvenking, seemed to stop in that moment as Thranduil contemplated what to do, how to assess this situation--- this was a _human,_ a young, innocent life, about to be taken away right before his very eyes--- would it be wrong to do nothing, and just allow it to happen? _She is a mortal, they will die eventually,_ was the very first, almost instinctive thought to come to Thranduil's mind, but he ignored it vehemently; normally, he would not so openly care for the fleeting life of a mortal, but conflict arose when the morals that Bard had introduced to the Elvenking upon befriending him, had Thranduil wanting to save this life--- otherwise, he would be letting Bard down, and he felt he had already done so, at least enough for one day.

Heart rate accelerating, Thranduil felt as though his body was moving before he had even thought to allow it to do so--- and before he knew it, he unsheathed the small elven blade that he had brought with him for self defense, and held it firmly in his grasp, more than ready to put it to use towards the defense of another person entirely. He dashed from the shadowed protection of the alleyway, and towards the brute before him, moving quick enough to catch the man by surprise, if his expression and rather startled "What in the Hell---?!" was telling enough of that.

The Elvenking intervened just moments before the man's dagger had even grazed the fabric of his captive's dress--- Thranduil had grabbed the large, strong arm which held the dagger, and had it fall limp with a firm squeeze of the wrist, putting enough elven strength onto it, to have the man crying out in pain, and dropping his weapon to the floor with an audible 'clink'. By that point in time, the man had diverted his attention from the girl he had held captive, allowing her freedom as he was temporarily weakened, and instead, directing his attention to the elf that was assaulting him.

"Who are you?!" The man asked, gruffly, and his expression was that of anger and irritation, fixed directly on Thranduil--- until he noticed that his supposed prisoner was escaping, the young girl taking to running down the alleyway for protection; filled with rage, the thug may have very well run after her, if he hadn't been met with a blade at his throat before he could escape from the elf's grasp.

"You'd dare not run after her," Thranduil said firmly, his tone remaining stoic as he watched the fear fill his enemy's eyes, "I'll not hesitate to kill you, if you would even try." He declared, without any trace of fear nor apprehension, and the tormentor before him was at a complete loss for words, shaken and visibly afraid. In this moment of silence, Thranduil could see, out of the corner of his eye, that the teenage girl was still in the vicinity, almost curiously watching the scene play out from beneath the shadows, although she still appeared to be properly frightened...

"Please," The tormentor's desperate plea had Thranduil's gaze fixed on him again, cold and merciless despite the desperation in the man's voice, "Have mercy, I'll not come near her ever again, I swear on my life..!" He pleaded, his voice quaking. On this evening, however, Thranduil had no time to hear such common begs for mercy; tonight, he would have none. He would not kill this stranger, but the Elvenking was certainly in a rotten mood after seeing the man's ruthless harassment in action, that he would not leave him unscathed.

Thranduil smirked at his enemy, which had the brute's eyes widen with fright, before he was pushed free from the elf's grasp with enough force to have him stumbling towards the stone wall directly behind him, and thusly hitting the back of his head rather firmly against the harsh surface. Thranduil only stood and witnessed quietly as the man, now properly concussed and possibly seeing stars, fell quickly to his knees, and then to the ground, his head falling and resting on the pavement as he appeared to spiral downwards into unconsciousness from the impact. The elf waited a few moments before approaching the fallen brute, sheathing his own blade and reaching down to pick up his opponents fallen weapon off of the floor, lest another unfavorable being would find it.

Thranduil examined the dagger for a moment; it was common enough to have been in possession of any man, but the blade still held enough value to it to have been given to this brute in particular by someone of superiority to him. The elf directed his gaze towards the fallen tormentor, and he narrowed his eyes in disgust. "Such a pitiful excuse for a human being..." He murmured, shaking his head, "What sick, twisted gratification could you possibly hope to achieve, from taking such a young life?"

In relation to said 'young life', Thranduil glanced towards the alleyway to find that the teenage girl, indeed, was still stood there, although she appeared to be visibly shaken by the previous, frightening encounter, despite the favorable turn of events. When she realized that Thranduil had his icy gaze fixed on her, she appeared shy, and hesitant to even take one step away from the safe distance she had achieved. "I-Is it alright?" She asked, her tone quivering.

It was only a small nod from Thranduil that had the young girl bounding towards him, out from the shadows, and immediately into his embrace--- although the elf was rather startled from the sudden contact that the weapon he had in his grasp fell to the floor for a second time, and his arms were kept away from the girl clinging to him as the embrace remained very one-sided for a good, long while, until Thranduil felt the young mortal shaking, and then tearing up, against him.

For a moment, the Elvenking felt a deep, almost unfamiliar ache in his chest that he could not quite name, until he realized that it was heartbreak--- and following this realization, he wrapped his arms around the young girl and held her quivering form to his chest, whispering to her, "You will be alright, young one..." in an attempt to quell her sadness. Thranduil had, of course, comforted many young children in his past times in a manner similar to this, and each and every time he had done so, he wished that he could erase all the pain and sadness and death in the world with one fell swoop. Ultimately, one of the unfortunate truths of the world that had kept his heart locked away in isolation from others, was the doomed fact that to erase all forms of suffering was completely and utterly impossible.

Eventually, the girl's sobs came to an end, and slowly she pulled herself free from Thranduil's grasp, the elf allowing her to do so, gently and kindly. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, her face tear stricken, and a bright blush crept onto her cheeks as she averted her gaze from the tall figure before her. "I-I'm sorry," She hurriedly apologized, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, "You shouldn't have had to help me, I'm so--- so useless..." She explained, her tone still broken as she spoke between hiccups and sniffles.

Thranduil could only shake his head at such absurd self-deprecation. "Nonsense, you were very clearly at a disadvantage," He began, reaching down to his left to pick up the fallen dagger once more as he spoke, "For someone of your size, in comparison to that brute," He glanced towards the fallen man, then back towards the girl, "Your actions were appropriate, as well as intelligent. You cried for help; I heard you." He stood up straight, and wiped off the blade of the stranger's dagger with his cloak, before handing it towards the girl. "You are not weak." He stated.

The girl looked up at him, into his cold gaze, in what appeared to be awe--- before glancing down towards the weapon she was being offered, taking it hesitantly with a small nod. She examined the small knife rather intently from all angles, before setting it gently into a satchel that she carried at her side. "Thank you..." She murmured shyly, her gaze meeting Thranduil's once more. "You have my undying gratitude for saving me from that... That _awful man..._ " She said venomously, glancing scornfully at her assaulter.

Thranduil couldn't help but nod in agreement, and mutual distaste of the awful brute. "Are such instances of regular occurrences, among the men of Laketown?" Thranduil could not help but inquire, obviously referring to the man's disgusting actions.

In return, the girl shook her head, and gave an exasperated sigh. "He must be one of the Master's lackey's--- Da doesn't trust them, and neither do I." Her gaze fell to the floor, as she suddenly appeared to be rather sad, "For all I know, Da could be in trouble right now, thanks to them..." Her eyes remained averted for a moment as her mind seemed to be wandering somewhere else entirely, until suddenly she snapped out of it, her gaze meeting Thranduil's once more. "Oh, but how rude of me, I was rambling... I take it you're not from here?" She asked.

For a moment, Thranduil contemplated whether he should pull his hood off and reveal his true identity, or whether he should just quietly shake his head at her inquiry. The elf decided towards the latter--- there was no reason to tell this young human whom he had just met, the very reason why he was here--- or, at least, there was nary a reason until she uttered the very first syllable of her name. the elf shook his head in silence, and the girl smiled, and introduced herself. "I'm Sigrid," She said, and anything that she were to say afterwards fell unto deaf ears as Thranduil fully processed her name.

It was a name that, during the past three months, has become all too familiar to him--- a name that he had heard countless times, from someone very important to him. _My eldest daughter, Sigrid---_ he could vividly recall Bard saying to him, as the two of them would lay in a grassy field together and he would listen to the man telling stories about his three unique children--- stories that Thranduil loved to hear, although he'd never verbalize such a desire; he had a feeling that Bard had already been made aware of it. Suddenly, realization clicked precisely into place as he examined this girl, Sigrid, up and down--- she had features similar to Bard, although soft, younger, and feminine--- and Bard had remarked that his daughters had their mother's lighter shade of hair--- on Sigrid, this had proven to be true.

As Thranduil examined the girl, he noticed that the expression on her face suddenly became rather quizzical, if not slightly worried. "Are you alright?" Sigrid asked, "You've become frozen. Did I say something wrong?"

" _No,_ " Thranduil replied hurriedly--- he needn't worry this girl, he just very suddenly needed to ask something rather important from her. Being rather upfront, he inquired without hesitation; "You are the eldest daughter of Bard, correct?"

Sigrid's brows furrowed, her expression filling with, perhaps, even more confusion. "How could you know that...?" She asked, apprehensively taking a step back, away from the elf--- this was not exactly the reaction he was hoping to gain from the young girl, although he could understand her defensiveness; she had nearly just been killed, after all. "I thought you said you aren't from Laketown... Who are you?"

With that question, Thranduil decided it was about high time that he be truthful with Sigrid, now having confirmed the identity of her father. Slowly, he reached up towards the hood of the dark cloak he wore, and he pulled it down and off of his head rather hastily--- immediately, his silver, flowing locks fell from the fabric of the hood, and gracefully draped over his shoulders. Now, his appearance made him unmistakable, and Sigrid let out a small gasp in awe as she stepped forward. The elf before her met her gaze of wonderment. "I am Thranduil," He said, "Surely, you know of me..."

Sigrid remained silent, jaw dropped in shock, until she found herself nodding her head rather eagerly. "O-Of _course_ I do!" She said, her voice squeaking in excitement and nervousness. "You're Da's elf; he's told me all about you! It's so great to meet you---" She nearly exclaimed, but her voice was silenced immediately, her tone became somber, "But, how unfortunate that we had to meet like _this..._ " She looked around at her surroundings for a moment, then back up towards Thranduil. "Tell me, have you seen Da? Do you know where he is?!" She asked suddenly, sounding extremely worried as she leaned in far too close to the elf.

Thranduil sighed, his tone full of regret and mutual worry, though it was subtle in comparison to the young girl's violent emotions, "Unfortunately, I haven't the faintest idea where he could be..." He admitted, and upon Sigrid's gaze grew a look of extreme disappointment.

The girl instead took to averting her sad eyes towards the floor, and she attempted a grin. "Should have guessed," She murmured gravely, and then sighed, "That must be why you've come here. You must be looking for him, as well..."

The elf did not reply verbally, only giving a nod in Sigrid's direction--- she would not see this, her stare fixed on the floor. Thranduil knew very well that it went without saying; Sigrid was correct to assume he was looking for Bard. As a resident of the dreary Laketown, she of all people would know that an ethereal being such as the elf stood before her, would not be seen very often, wandering around such a bleak setting. Still, the mere fact that Sigrid could even possess an _inkling_ of hope, that Thranduil would by some miracle know of the whereabouts of her missing father, only served to remind the elf just how desperate she was to locate him.

He truly wished he could alleviate the mortal girl's suffering, if only just by a little bit, if he were not in the very same hopeless situation as she. This fact alone kept him from verbalizing his mutual worry to the girl--- what purpose would that serve, if not to upset her even moreso? Instead, while Sigrid remained in silence, Thranduil's keen hearing picked up on the sound of quiet, pained groans, and immediately his eyes darted towards the tormentor that he had just put into unconsciousness minutes before.

The rugged predator was just beginning to slip back into reality, his body springing to life with small, pained movements--- his eyes were still shut, but making an earnest attempt to fully open, and his hand moved to his temple, rubbing it in a vain attempt to ease the pain brought upon him. The sight of Sigrid's tormentor beginning to slip back into consciousness had an idea spring to Thranduil's mind, and quietly, he inched closer to Sigrid, earning her attention within a few short moments. Her gaze met Thranduil's, and she listened intently.

"That man," Thranduil began, nodding his head towards the awakening lackey, whom Sigrid glanced towards briefly before meeting the elf's eyes again, "You did state that he may very well be one of the Master's underlings; how certain are you of this information?" He asked tentatively.

Sigrid shrugged, "Fairly certain, at best?" She replied in a questioning tone, "I've seen many faces watching my Da, always looking for some way to exploit him--- and besides, why _else_ would he attack _me?_ " She offered in return, and she gestured to herself--- as Thranduil looked over her being briefly, he realized that she looked just ordinary enough to blend in with any other citizen of Laketown; that, and she clearly did not have any valuables on her. Her statement rang true in his mind; why else would she be attacked by this supposed stranger, if not because a higher power didn't want her looking for a certain missing bargeman?

Keeping this all in mind, Thranduil nodded slowly, and he directed an icy glare towards Sigrid's assaulter. "Perhaps," The elf began, as he slowly walked towards the fallen man, "He may be worth interrogating..."

Sigrid followed a few hesitant steps behind Thranduil, a ringing question of _'What are you planning to do?'_ on her mind--- however, before she could voice, the query, it was already answered for her. Thranduil stood before Sigrid's predator, and he grabbed him violently by the shirt collar--- the man yelped in agony as he was pulled upwards and pinned against the wall before he even had a chance to recuperate from his injuries and steady himself. Sigrid stood back and watched from afar, a strange mixture of emotions bubbling up in her chest, that felt somewhat along the lines of admiration and horror--- and she observed the complete and utter fear in her enemy's eyes, as the man's gaze was met with that of a very angry elf.

Almost immediately, the man began struggling, but his movements nearly ceased altogether as Thranduil tightened his grip, and in response, the man took to pleading. Near tears, he choked out, "P-Please, don't kill me," He begged pitifully.

Thranduil scoffed, and said, "You are mortal," and all too suddenly, he released his grip on the man's collar and had him falling to the floor once more, but before the tormentor could scramble to his feet to make a hasty escape, Thranduil had leaned down and unsheathed his blade, putting it to the man's throat. "You are already dead to me." He said, and he took a strange satisfaction in the manner that the man's pulse quickened significantly against the elvish blade. Thranduil would not take this life--- for it was already short enough to the elf as it were. Even so, he did want the man to suffer for his crimes--- Sigrid was the daughter of Bard, and although she and Thranduil had only first met moments ago, the Elvenking felt _disgusted_ at the mere thought of anyone hurting her.

The predator in Thranduil's grasp fell limp and helpless beneath the elf, perhaps ready to accept whatever fate may be brought upon him, if not without more pleading for mercy. "I-I told you, I won't come near her ever again, this I swear!" The man stuttered out, and he glanced up towards the elf with a tearful gaze, "I was only doing what I was told; I-I was doing what was right---"

"What was _right?!_ " The very statement had Thranduil's entire being fill with a burning hot rage within moments, and he pressed the knife against his victim's throat even moreso, leaning in towards him, "Who would even think to lead one into believing, that taking the life of another is, by any means, _right?_ " The elf asked, although the question was not necessarily meant to be met with an answer, but rather, it was meant to create a sense of morality in this ignorant, if not heartless, man.

But rather, the question was met with a dark, solemn laugh from the man under Thranduil's blade, and the elf's brow twitched in frustration at this awful human being. Very briefly, the elf took to glancing over his shoulder at Sigrid, who stood a short distance away, overlooking the conflict without a word. Her defensive posture gave away her obvious fear as clearly as daylight, and Thranduil wanted to forget about this awful tormentor entirely and offer her some sort of comfort in that moment--- but these thoughts were interrupted as the man began to speak again, and Thranduil met his gaze once more.

"If not right, then _necessary,_ " The man said, and his previously frightened expression had turned into a darkened glare in Thranduil's direction, "The girl's father is a monster," The man spat the words menacingly, as though they were poison, and Thranduil felt anger and offense towards the derogatory statement burning up in his chest. He heard a gasp from Sigrid, and although the elf wanted nothing more than to protect her in this moment, he remained listening to the man, who continued to speak. "We didn't know 'till earlier today--- it's rather shocking, really. How we've been watching that despicable man for this long, something was always off about him. And, for all we know," He glanced over Thranduil's shoulders, and nodded wearily towards Sigrid, "She could be one of them filthy bloodsuckers, too--- so, this was necessary, yeah?"

Such a bold statement, filled with such backwards, ignorant thinking, absolutely disgusted the Elvenking, and the words only served to fan the fire to the flame of complete rage that was burning up within the his chest, growing stronger by the minute. It was a wonder that he did not just slit the man's throat and kill him in that instance--- Thranduil's self control was remarkable enough to keep him from unleashing all hell onto this man, showing him what exactly a _true_ monster was like, for spouting such awful words. Somehow, Thranduil refrained from any sort of extreme violence, and he only released the man from his grasp in the form of lunging him against the cold, hard floor, as the elf stood up and sheathed his blade, his facade of calmness remaining intact.

"Get out of my sight, you fiend," Thranduil commanded, not even sparing the horrible man a single glance, lest he lose the last bit of his temper and decide to change his mind and kill him right then and there, as the predator struggled to his feet and took off in a frightened, clumsy sprint towards the opposite end of the alleyway. The elf did not even bother watching his enemy run frantically away from the scene, as the obvious, echoing pitter patter of the man's feet was enough to affirm his escape.

Thranduil heaved a shaky, exasperated sigh in order to compose himself before speaking again--- in an attempt to ward off the strong, horrid emotions that the predator filled him with before talking to Sigrid. He did not face the girl, and only stood with his back towards her as he suggested, "You ought to return home now, Sigrid. Your siblings need you."

Sigrid sounded about ready to protest. "But you--- And Da--- And---" She stammered out, before approaching Thranduil and standing by his side, looking up at him with a worried gaze. She pointed down the alleyway, "H-He's getting away!" She exclaimed.

Thranduil met her gaze, and attempted a small smile, "Indeed, he is," The elf stated, and he, too, glanced down the alleyway, "And I can still hear the coward run; he may very well lead me towards your father." He glanced down towards Sigrid again, with a solemn expression on his face. "My keen senses will assist me easily in following his trail--- in the meantime, I cannot risk putting you in even more danger. Leave him to me, young one."

It was obvious by the look of disapproval on Sigrid's face, that she hated so much to leave Thranduil all to himself, and be of no help to him whatsoever--- but his words were that of truth, and she could tell rather obviously that the elf was more than capable of taking on such a task. She glanced to the floor, appearing just about ready to accept her own role in this treacherous tale, before she inched towards Thranduil and gathered him in a hasty embrace, burying her face against the elf. "I'll be safe, as long as you will too. Please..." She looked up towards the elf with tear filled eyes, "Bring him back."

The elf felt his chest tighten at such an emotional sight, and internally, he struggled for words, just for a moment. Slowly and gently, he returned Sigrid's embrace for just a moment, only pulling apart to place a chaste kiss onto her forehead. "You have given me courage, Sigrid," He whispered against her, before releasing her from his grasp and looking down towards her, smiling in earnest. "I will not fail you."

Sigrid returned the elf's grin, before turning away to make a hasty escape from the alleyway, towards her home. Thranduil watched as she left the security of his protection and, about to pull the hood of his cloak back over his head, he heard Sigrid's footsteps come to a halt, and suddenly, their eyes met once more. "Thranduil?" She asked, stood right at the edge of the alleyway entrance.

Tentatively, the elf pulled his hood on, and tilted his head questioningly. "Yes?" He asked in return.

Sigrid grinned in his direction. "Thank you. For everything." She said.

Thranduil felt humbled at the young girl's gratitude--- he wanted to protest, insist that there was no need for any sort of thanks, but instead he found himself speechless. He merely shut his eyes and put a hand over his heart, an elvish gesture of gratitude. By the time the simple movement was over with, the elf heard Sigrid take off running, her footsteps growing even moreso faint in the distance.

Once Sigrid had left, Thranduil turned towards the opposite direction, to which his enemy had escaped. The man's footsteps were small, distant and faint--- but still audible to Thranduil's heightened senses. Ready to pursue the man, and hopefully lead an innocent vampire to freedom, the elf took off, storming after the predator.

\--------------------------------------------------------

 _Hours._ It had been _hours,_ goodness knows how many, of _darkness._ Hours of being _trapped._ Hours of being _bound_ and _helpless_ and unable to break _free_ by any means, and Bard was beginning to grow sick of it. He had given up struggling for freedom ages ago--- at the very least, it felt as though it was ages, time seemed to have been moving so slowly in this closed, dark space. Indeed, Bard felt tired, thirsty, and most of all, completely hopeless.

The idea of someone, anyone finding him down here, where ever 'here' was at this point--- it was almost _laughable,_ a joke, even. It was absurd to think that anyone would be rescuing him. He had plenty more enemies than friends in Laketown, at this point in time--- being a mischievous and somewhat liberal man with an unfortunate background, he was mostly only ever _tolerated_ by the citizens of the town. In addition, if his children were to go out looking for him, he would turn out to be more worried for them than grateful for their help. The worried ache in his chest swelled up at the thought of Sigrid, Bain, or Tilda getting into some sort of danger for his sake. And, as for the odds of Thranduil coming to his rescue...

Bard swallowed painfully, his throat dry and his mindset negative. It had been hours--- it was most certainly night time since his unfavorable encounter with the prince of Mirkwood, and Bard still could not stand to think about his elven friend, if the bargeman even held the rights to calling him that, anymore.

Accepting his fate, Bard shut his eyes solemnly, just about ready to be locked in this quiet, dark, cold room for hours, possibly days longer, when suddenly a blinding light from the corner of his vision had Bard's eyes shoot open, and then squint nearly shut upon attempting to adjust them to the light. Directly to his right hand side, a door creaked open, and when Bard's eyes opened again, he was greeted with the blurry sight of a hooded figure stood menacingly above him. His eyes still adjusting, he could not recognize the stranger, but the bargeman couldn't keep a fearful shudder from escaping his lips, as he noticed the gleam of a small blade in the figure's hands.

In that moment, he knew he was absolutely done for--- any thought of escape fled instantly from his mind, and Bard only heaved a heavy sigh of defeat as he shut his eyes, ready to embrace his demise. He should have known that this sort of fate would come upon him eventually--- he was caught feeding by human men, after all, and try as he may to call this sort of action against him xenophobic behavior, Bard knew it was necessary. He was a harmful monster, and as his eyes remained shut, waiting for the dagger to meet his flesh, he only hoped he could be at peace knowing that with his death, justice would be served...

... Several seconds passed as Bard waited for the finishing blow, and those seconds alone felt like a lifetime--- yet, the painful stab never came. Instead, Bard felt a strange tugging at the ropes around his wrists. Thoroughly confused, Bard opened one eye, and then the other, and he noticed the shadowy figure no longer loomed threateningly above him, but rather, they stood intently over the bounds around his wrists, using the sharp blade in their hands to cut them free.

"What...?" Bard could not help but ask, and his voice came out weak and raspy, realizing suddenly that he had not uttered a word in several hours. He cleared his throat before speaking again, craning his neck just enough to catch a better glimpse of the stranger above him, who had already freed one of Bard's hands, and was now working intently on the other. "I-I don't--- I---" He stammered, unsure of which question to be verbalized first, as there were suddenly so many on his mind. After a few moments of struggling for words, he settled with a simple, but firm, "Who are you?"

By the time Bard had voiced that question, his second hand was freed from the thick rope binding it with ease, and the bargeman was finally given the liberty to sit up straight. Struggling at first, as he was feeling rather weak, Bard pulled himself upright and his back ached as he did so, but he couldn't care less, this miraculous stranger had come to free him! And therefore, he needed to know who this hooded figure was, and properly thank them, as he positioned himself and turned to meet eyes with them.

The figure stood before Bard within moments--- in one hand, they held their blade firmly, and the other hand reached upward to tug the hood that they wore down, and off of their head. Bard's heart raced immediately, his pulse quickening as the stranger revealed their identity to him--- first, he saw the familiar, ice blue eyes, and then the endless locks of silver hair, illuminated by the light of the open doorway, and finally, Bard was in awe. His jaw dropped open, and a familiar name graced his lips instantly. _"Thranduil?"_ He asked, in disbelief.

There was no mistake to it--- as hard as it was to believe, it was clear as day that stood before Bard was Thranduil the Elvenking, the most unlikely being to have come to a vampire's rescue, Bard had previously thought, merely moments ago. Obvious by the hint of a smile that graced the elf's lips for just a short moment, it really and truly was him. "Yes," Thranduil replied, "I am here now, Bard."

Bard felt, in that moment, that he had all of the breathe knocked out of him from utter shock, as well as the ability to vocalize, although he also felt rather elated. He stammered repeatedly, trying to grasp onto some sort of vernacular as he watched Thranduil move on to the thick ropes around the man's feet, getting to work on cutting those bounds. "I-I don't understand," Bard finally said, "Is this--- Am I _dreaming?_ I thought I would certainly be put to death---"

" _No,_ " Thranduil said the word as though it disgusted him--- followed by the snap of one of the ropes breaking free, and Bard was suddenly able to move one of his legs. He pulled it up towards his torso, listening as Thranduil spoke again, "Never, Bard, I would never allow that to happen to you." He said, cutting into the ropes more firmly as if to affirm his strong emotions at the very thought. "Although I detest the mere thought of admitting to such a grave mistake, I must confess," He paused as the second rope snapped, and when Bard was free, they met eyes, "It is _entirely_ my fault that you are down here."

Bard was silent at the confession for a moment, and in a haze of complete wonderment mixed with mere joy from the fact that Thranduil was here with him, he let out an exasperated, weary laugh. "I don't care!" He exclaimed, before finally pulling himself off of the cold, hard slab that he had been bound to for so long now, and launching himself in Thranduil's direction to embrace the elf. His knees were weak and it felt wrong and strange to walk after being immobile for so long, but nonetheless, Bard clumsily stood before Thranduil and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face against his chest. "I really don't..." He murmured.

Thranduil sheathed his elven blade skillfully before returning Bard's embrace, and the two remained together in that manner for a few long moments, until the elf took notice of the man's awkward gait, and pulled away from him. "You've grown weak," Thranduil stated in a worried tone, and his brows were furrowed with concern.

Before Bard could even open his mouth to protest, and insist that everything was alright and he would be fine in a few moments, Thranduil had already released him from his grip. Bard stumbled to stand up straight and remain steady, but after failing to do so, he took to leaning against the slab he had been laying on, solely doing so for balance as he observed Thranduil's actions. The elf seemed to be reaching towards the lefthand sleeve of his tunic, and hastily, he was pulling it up, exposing his wrist...

... Bard's stomach sank as the realization of what Thranduil was going to do next. _"Wait---"_ He protested.

Thranduil interrupted, presenting his exposed left wrist to Bard. "You are weak, and we need to escape this place quickly and quietly. We will not be able to do that if you're stumbling helplessly about," He whispered firmly, and the elf glanced suspiciously towards the doorway, "I was lead here by a man who was pursuing your eldest--- the other men are not aware of my infiltration just yet," He looked towards Bard again, his expression commanding and domineering, "However, that may very well change. You need your energy--- drink from me, and _hurry._ " He instructed carefully.

Bard hated to admit it, but he was parched at the mere sight of Thranduil's exposed, porcelain wrist--- as he thought about sinking his teeth into that flesh, he suddenly became all too aware of the sweet scent of the elf filling the small, confined space--- but what ultimately kept Bard from pursuing his animalistic desires, was the confrontation with Thranduil's son, earlier that same day. He swallowed dryly, his mindset elsewhere, distracted enough to keep him from his thirst, and he backed away from his elf, as much as he would regret doing so. "I-I can't." He stammered.

Thranduil sighed, his left arm fell limp to his side, and his right hand came to the bridge of his nose, pinching it in exasperation as he murmured a frustrated curse in elvish. He looked at Bard again shortly after, a thick brow raised in mild irritation. "We haven't got all day," Thranduil pointed out, firmly and matter-of-factly, and he presented his wrist again, "You need to---"

 _"No!"_ Bard interrupted, his voice nearing a yell, but still quiet enough to remain undetected by the enemies on the floor above. Frustrated, tired, and humiliated, Bard felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes, and he gravely averted his gaze. "I-I _can't_ do that to you, not again." He admitted shakily, and he clenched his fists so tightly, that his fingernails threatened to leave angry imprints in his palms. "Your son, he told me everything--- he told me exactly what sort of state I left you in, and Thranduil, I just--- I can't..." Exhausted and emotionally spent, Bard slowly sank to his knees before the elf, who looked rather taken aback by this display, "You _can't_ let me do that to you again, _please..._ " He begged.

Thranduil stood over his vampire, his eyes wide as he remained silent, thinking exactly of what to say, how to comfort Bard, because it was obvious that while the man was in this state, there was absolutely no way that he would possibly consider drinking from Thranduil, even if his very _life_ depended on it. The Elvenking knew, all along, that it would come to this--- that Bard would feel guilty for his completely irresponsible behavior, and as the elf kneeled down to meet the man at eye level, he knew that he had to explain to him exactly that.

Gently, Thranduil set a feather-light hand onto Bard's shoulder, the light contact startling the man out of his current state, and his tear-filled gaze met Thranduil's eyes. "Did I not say that I am the one at fault, in this situation?" The elf asked quietly, and very carefully, he pulled Bard into an embrace, all the while whispering soothing statements into his ear, "You did absolutely nothing wrong--- I should have known when to tell you to stop. I have failed you, Bard, and it is my fault that you have been put in such danger." Thranduil sighed against Bard's neck, his eyes shut, "You needn't feel guilty for my actions. Please, Bard, can you forgive me?"

He asked, delicately. For the longest while, Bard remained motionless in Thranduil's embrace--- not entirely certain how to react to it, until he realized the true impact of Thranduil's words. The Elvenking seldom _begged_ for anything, from anyone at all, and at this thought, Bard pulled apart from the elf, facing him. He gave him a sheepish, weary grin, and blinked his tears away. "I already have," He insisted.

Thranduil grinned for a moment in return, but the moment was short, as he presented his wrist to Bard again, _"Meleth nîn,"_ He murmured quietly in Elvish, a phrase that Bard had not heard from him before, and the vampire's eyes darted lustfully down to the exposed flesh. "You must hurry." Thranduil insisted.

Shakily, Bard reached out towards the thin, pale wrist, grabbing it with one hand, and then the other. He brought the appendage up to his nose, taking in the scent of the blood pumping beneath it, and all of a sudden he was all too aware of the subtle manner that the elf shivered, as Bard placed his lips delicately over the pulse. That small action alone was just enough to push Bard over the edge, and have his humanity lose out entirely to the more monstrous side of himself.

He felt his fangs extending by the second, and his throat burned, almost yearning for the elf's honey-sweet blood. "Tell me when," Bard instructed, before opening his mouth and biting down firmly onto Thranduil's wrist.

The elf bit his own lip, trying to suppress any sort of pained sounds, lest it would give away his presence in the building--- instead, he remained as quiet and still as possible, his eyes fixed on Bard, who was now feeding in earnest. Upon tasting the first drop of elven blood, Bard had been brought into a frenzy--- it felt almost entirely similar to the very first time that he had sunk his fangs into the Elvenking's porcelain flesh, everything was new, and _different,_ and he could see and hear and feel _everything,_ all at once.

Slowly, the vampire found himself able to stand up from the floor, his knees losing their weakness as he felt his body rejuvenate with every drop of blood. The room of which he had been held captive in was cold, but all too suddenly, he felt warm, as though he were about to burn up--- as though anything he would touch, would be set aflame instantaneously. Most of all, however, Bard felt intimately safe in Thranduil's presence, perhaps unlike he had ever felt before.

Thranduil remained kneeling before Bard, as he allowed the other man his wrist freely--- and as the vampire's senses heightened dramatically, through his eyes the Elvenking looked absolutely ethereal, pale skin illuminated with a downright _cosmic_ sort of beauty. Bard's eyes widened in awe, and his irises began to fill with a deep, red glow--- he almost lost his footing for a moment, in disbelief that such a beautiful, untouchable being would willingly allow Bard access to their delicate form.

Their interaction seemed to drift on and on for what felt like hours, until Thranduil's cold stare met Bard's deep red gaze with a firm, "That's enough," and immediately following the command, Bard stopped feeding altogether, pulling away from the elf and unhanding his wrist, allowing it to fall limp between the two of them.

"A-Are you alright, this time? Have I had too much?" Worried inquiries fled from the vampire's bloodied lips before he could stop to think them through--- somehow, he was able to keep his humanity intact as he examined the elf thoroughly for any sign of weariness--- all the while through a heightened stare. As guilty as he felt for feeding off of Thranduil again, Bard could not deny that he felt amazing--- moreso than he had in awhile. A sort of euphoria began to flow through his veins, he no longer felt as though he were to burn up, but rather he had reached a content state of warmth, and his vision was enhanced dramatically; what had previously been a bleak room, pitch black with darkness, was now all too clear to Bard--- he could see every inch and crevice of everything in high definition.

Still, his attention remained on the elf before him, as Thranduil slowly began to stand up, steadying himself and towering over Bard as he usually would--- he did not carry a hint of weariness to his being, but elves were typically difficult to read; a simple man, vampire or not, would be unable to melt the Elvenking's cool facade; although time moved slow enough for the two of them, in this moment, it would take several more lifetimes to accomplish such a feat.

"I am alright," Thranduil assured, a simple confirmation which served to ease the worries dwelling in Bard's chest. Then, the elf suddenly reached for Bard's hand and secured it in a firm grasp, turning on his heel and leaving the dark room, the man following in tow. "Now, we must leave this horrible prison--- quickly."

Bard could not suppress a startled yelp as he was hurriedly jerked out of the room and into the bright light of the hallway beyond his confinement--- he shielded his eyes for a moment with his free arm, blinking to adjust to the sudden change, but he was barely allowed the time as Thranduil began to quicken his pace. Bard stumbled for a moment, "Ah, hey---!" He exclaimed, tugging his hand away from the elf, irritated, "I can walk just fine on my own!" He argued, catching up with the elf to walk by his side.

Thranduil, in the meantime, hardly even bothered to spare the man beside him a glance, only offering him a prideful smirk, "If only with my aid," He retorted, and Bard's eyes shot down to the elf's wounded wrist.

Before he could open his mouth to offer any sort of argument in return, Thranduil pulled the hood of his cloak firmly over his head, and took off running, the dark fabric flowing gracefully behind him--- and Bard was caught off guard by the elf's speed, but was not rendered unable to keep up, the blood of said elf energizing him beyond belief. Begrudgingly, Bard followed behind Thranduil and mumbled to himself, "Prick," Followed by, "Should've known he'd take pride in such an unimportant thing," And he smirked, quickening his pace effortlessly.

\------------------------------------------------

With a quick step, much stealth, and several hallways and staircases later, Thranduil and Bard seemed to have escaped from the labyrinth of a prison that the vampire had been held captive within. By the time they had neared the entrance to the building, illuminated by torches and unguarded upon first sight, it was clear that Bard's freedom had put the men of the building in a frenzy of sorts. As the elf and the man escaped through the front gates of the chamber with as little noise as possible, a mad vampire hunt was audible beneath the floorboards that they stood upon--- in the basement below, thugs and lackeys of all sorts were looking frantically for their prisoner.

By the time that the two had set foot outside of the building, stepping out into the dark of night, Bard turned around on his heel to more closely examine where he had been imprisoned--- here, he had been expecting an extravagant, ominous dungeon of some sort, given the state he had been kept in for the past several hours, but one inspection lead him to believe otherwise. From the outside, the building looked just about as ordinary and mundane as any other building in Laketown, easily blending in with the others--- however, the structure felt familiar to Bard, somehow.

"I..." He murmured, and trailed off--- in the corner of his vision, he could see Thranduil raising a brow in suspicion as Bard turned around to face opposite to the building--- only to find that he and the elf stood on the edge of town, as before them stood the sight of the lake, illuminated by glistening starlight. He then glanced in the distance, and he could clearly see the docks that he visited often, as a bargeman. He turned to face the building again, his eyes narrowing. "I know this place." He stated.

Thranduil appeared to be thoroughly confused, as well as uninterested. "And?" The elf asked, wanting to move on from the topic as quickly as possible.

Bard met Thranduil's eyes, and he explained, "I pass by this building very often, whenever I head off to the river bank--- those men, they must have been watching me from _here,_ all this time!" He exclaimed, and then he sighed, his head fell in shame, and he reached a hand up to his temple, appearing exasperated, "I should have known; I should have thought to change my course, or---"

"Nevermind that," Thranduil interrupted, and he set a hand onto Bard's shoulder reassuringly, catching the man's gaze immediately, "You are but a man; you could not have sensed such a disturbance--- and, more importantly, there is no use dwelling on this right now..." He looked around hastily, before unhanding Bard and walking ahead of him, "We must return you to your family; then, we need to ward off these men who are after you." He stated, and as Bard caught up to the elf's side, following him, he could see Thranduil grit his teeth in anger, "By _Valar,_ I will use my authority if I must, even if it causes a disturbance between Laketown and my Kingdom--- _no one_ is allowed to hurt you, Bard." He stated firmly.

Bard felt his pulse quicken immediately, and heat rushed to his face as he averted his gaze almost bashfully--- seeing Thranduil being downright possessive over Bard, as well as his safety, had the bargeman feeling flustered, as though he were a young teenage girl in love, rather than a grown man, and a _monster,_ at that! His heart pounding in his chest, he fell silent as he walked side by side with Thranduil, not knowing what to say, how to reply or react to the elf's odd, almost _uncharacteristic_ behavior.

Within moments, the two of them managed to cover a few feet of distance away from the building, when suddenly, a mysterious, cloaked figure appeared in front of them, seemingly from out of nowhere, although they must have hopped down from the roof of a building in the distance. Nevertheless, they obstructed the path of the two, all too suddenly, and Bard's reaction was to be startled. He gasped, and stumbled backwards, taking to hiding helplessly behind the elf beside him, who was seemingly unphased.

Thranduil stood his ground, his eyes only widening at the sight of this apparent predator--- he grew rigid, and his hand fingered the hilt of the blade that he kept sheathed at his side--- the elf had not yet spilt blood onto it within the span of this day, and although he preferred not to altogether, if it were completely necessary, he would do so without hesitation. Bard, who was unarmed and unprotected, had no choice but to take cover behind the elf, his eyes squinting at the sight of this stranger before them, trying to decipher their features.

Slowly, the figure approached them, and Bard's elven companion took on a stance ready for combat as the stranger breached three feet of the two--- and then, they reached up to the hood of their own dark cloak, slowly pulling it down and off, leaving Bard and Thranduil in suspense... The face that the garment revealed was all too familiar to the both of them.

Golden locks, nearly identical to Thranduil's own, were freed from the hood, falling gently upon the stranger's shoulders, and the Elvenking was met with a blue gaze that was near identical to his own, and a name immediately ghosted upon his lips. _"Legolas,"_ He murmured, as he slowly released the hilt of his blade in favor of walking towards his son, and the elven prince that stood before he and Bard, gave a sheepish grin in their direction.

"Ada," He said, "I came to aid you, in hopes that you would forgive me for my... rather misguided behavior, earlier," Legolas said, with a rather obvious grimace, clearly regretting his actions. Then, he carefully glanced over his father's shoulder, towards the vampire that stood defensively behind the elf, shielded by his height. "It appears as though you may not be needing my aid, after all..." He observed.

Thranduil, who had previously been caught somewhat off guard, seeing his own kin appear before him in such a manner, now wore a scowl on his face, directed towards his son, and he cursed in elvish. "I am not the one who you should be seeking forgiveness from, _ion nîn._ " He pointed out harshly, and before Legolas was allowed a chance to protest, Thranduil side-stepped out of his way, revealing the defenseless vampire who stood behind him.

Bard immediately felt exposed and afraid, being met face to face with the prince of the Mirkwood--- their encounter in the earlier hours of the very same day still rang all too clear in his mind, and, although Legolas appeared repentant of his actions as he approached Bard slowly, the man still could not suppress the fear that bubbled up in his chest, upon meeting the other elf's gaze. Briefly, he looked to Thranduil for some sort of assurance, but the Elvenking only met his worried glance with a stoic, and ultimately unhelpful expression.

"You must be freezing," Legolas stated the obvious, which was enough to catch Bard's attention--- he looked towards the elf again, who had taken to occupying himself with the ties at the front of his cloak. Hastily undoing the knots, he pulled the garment off of his body, and presented it to the bowman before him. "I owe you an apology; please, wear this, and know that I do not view you as a monster, any longer." He stated solemnly, averting his eyes.

Bard had only just been freed from the confinements of the building behind him, and he had been out in the open for less than five minutes; yet, the crisp autumn air was already prickling at his skin, touching upon his bare, exposed chest most of all, causing goosebumps to rear on his flesh. Hurriedly, Bard took the cloak that Legolas had offered him, ridding the elf of the garment in favor of wrapping it around his own form, before it began to quiver from the temperature.

"I understand why you acted out in the manner that you did, Legolas," Bard explained, catching the elf's attention, and he gave the prince a small, sad grin, "You must care about your father very much, to go to such great lengths to protect him. I..." Bard looked towards the floor, and sighed gravely, "I care about him, as well. I was quite ready to abandon him altogether, if only to keep him out of harm's way." He admitted in a solemn tone.

Bard would not dare to look up into the eyes of either Legolas nor Thranduil, as their expressions may be rather telling of their emotions, as such a grave confession. He especially did not want to meet eyes with Thranduil, whose gaze may only serve to break his heart even moreso. Bard only looked up at Legolas when the younger elf let out an awkward chuckle.

"Thankfully, you needn't be doing that--- the King is obviously rather fond of you..." He trailed off, pausing to glance up towards his father for some sort of reply, or reassurance, but he only fell entirely silent when he noticed the rather worried, wide-eyed expression on Thranduil's face, as he stared off into the distance, towards the building that he had previously freed Bard from. "Ada, are you...?" Legolas began to ask.

"They are close now," Thranduil murmured gravely, "I can hear them." He stated, and fear filled the pit of Bard's stomach as he realized that the elf was referring to the men that were after the vampire's head. Thranduil turned to said vampire, and urged him away, "We have wasted enough time here, you must leave, _now!"_ He commanded, and he turned to glare back towards the building, "I will take care of those fiends." He spat angrily.

Legolas stood forth, holding up a hand to get his father's attention. "Should I remain here, and help you fend them off---"

Thranduil turned towards his son before he could even finish his question, _"No!"_ He exclaimed, and Legolas reeled back, startled. The Elvenking composed himself before speaking again, "No, you must escort Bard to his home. Be certain that he arrives safely." He instructed, in a tone of voice that would assure Legolas not to fail at this task.

The younger elf nodded with affirmation, but before turning to leave with the bargeman in tow, he reached to the side of his belt, and unsheathed a small, elvish knife nearly identical to the blade that his father had brought with him. He held it before the King, offering it. "I have my bow with me; please, take this, Ada..." He said.

Thranduil did not even spare a glance towards his son as he swiped the dagger from the younger elf's hand--- then, he unsheathed his own blade, and held the two of them menacingly. _"Run,"_ He commanded, before stalking off in the distance towards the illuminated, menacing structure, armed with double blades, and ready for combat.

Bard looked after the elf with a concerned expression and a heart full of worry--- but these rampant emotions were quickly quelled by the reassurance of the elven prince stood beside him. "My father will be alright," Legolas murmured gently, "These men are no match for him, they are mere children in his eyes--- if anything, he may very well frighten them off before any blood needs to be shed." The younger elf said with a smug look--- his expression, however, very quickly turned serious as he faced Bard with a dark gaze, and said, "Now, you heard him clearly, did you not? We must run."

Bard felt worried, uncertain, and still completely helpless--- but as he tugged the younger elf's dark cloak more closely around him, for some sort of protection, his gaze grew serious and he nodded firmly. Then, the two took off towards safety, in the dark of the night, as Thranduil was left to fight.

\----------------------------------------

The sky had darkened, the moon and the stars blocked out with the clouds of midnight, by the time Bard finally managed to step foot into his small, but warm and welcoming home, of which he had missed so very dearly. The rooms were illuminated as Bain, Tilda, and Sigrid were still wide awake, even at this hour, anticipating the arrival of their long lost father--- and when that moment finally arrived, the very first thing Bard was greeted with upon stepping into his domain, was an armful of his three children.

Tilda was the very first to notice as he entered the room, exclaiming _"Da!"_ in a high pitched tone of voice, and she darted from her seat at the kitchen table to embrace her father, wrapping her arms around his leg and nestling into the limb, nearly causing him to stumble and fall over. Unable to catch a break, the next sibling to gather him in a tearful embrace was his eldest, Sigrid. She ran over to her father and wrapped her arms around him tightly, and it was by some miracle that he did not lose his balance right then and there, as she buried her head in the crook of his neck, beginning to tear up. Lastly, Bain ran straight to his father to join in the hug, blinking repeatedly as he did so, possibly in a vain attempt to keep any tears from forming in his eyes.

Bard was nearly about to cry at the mere _sight_ of his children; how much they had missed him, and his heart ached to think that they were so close, _frighteningly_ so, to losing him--- it'd have been a crime for his life to be taken from them so suddenly, given the circumstances of their late mother--- with this in mind, he returned their embrace and choked back tears, trying his damnest to keep the shakiness out of his voice as he said, "It's alright, it's alright, I'm here..." In order to reassure his emotional children that he was fine, and everything would be fine now.

All the while, Legolas stood behind the reunited family, unable to keep a grin from creeping onto his features--- Bard only managed to glance over his shoulder at the elf and return the grin for just a moment, before looking back towards his children to release them from his grasp.

When the embrace was over, the three backed away from their father to allow him access to the house, and he walked in to the living space, Legolas following faithfully behind, and the door was shut behind the two of them, keeping the autumn air out. Sigrid wiped her eyes clean of tears, before realizing there was another presence in the room, looking over her father's shoulder at the elven prince. "Da, who is..?" She began to ask.

Bard sidestepped out of Legolas' way, allowing him to meet the three children. "This is Legolas," Bard explained, and the elf gave the three young ones a simple nod of introduction, "He will be making sure that no harm comes our way tonight; he is doing us a kindness like no other, so treat him well, alright, you three?"

Bard received a mutual affirmative from his two girls, but Bain remained silent, jaw dropped in awe--- he examined Legolas with a wide-eyed look of clear admiration, for this was possibly the young boy's first time seeing a _real, live elf_ in such close proximity, and if anything, it was as though his wildest dreams were coming true right before his very eyes. Bain only managed to snap out of this trance-like state when Sigrid cleared her throat, after a few moment's worth of awkward silence.

"Da, I..." She began, and she gestured to her two younger siblings, each of which stood towards both of her sides. "It's rather late, and I tried to coax them into bed, however, they... we..." She lowered her head in defeat, looking up at her father sheepishly as she attempted to explain herself, "We were just so worried about you; these worries kept us alert..."

Bard couldn't help but stifle a laugh--- he had just come from possibly the most unnerving and frightening experience he had ever had to undergo within his lifetime--- his children staying awake past their bedtime was the very _least_ of his worries for the day, and oh, how he missed the mundane and ordinary life that he lived with his three dearly beloved children. "That is no problem, Sigrid," He assured between laughs, and he glanced between the three, "Well, at any rate, I am here _now_ , so," He clasped his hands together, "Off to bed!" He instructed, with a light-hearted tone.

On that note, the three scurried off each in their own direction towards their chambers, and Sigrid allowed her father a small smile, before disappearing up the stairway to her own bedroom. In the meantime, Bard and Legolas stood in the middle of the entryway for a few moments, waiting for the sound of child's laughter to die off before speaking again, and when the room finally grew quiet, Legolas was the first to speak.

"They do not have a mother," The elf pointed out, and it was more of a statement than a question. Bard looked towards Legolas with a raised brow at the proclamation, but in response, he nodded rather slowly.

"Aye, she died shortly after my youngest was born." Bard explained.

He watched as Legolas nodded in understanding, averting his gaze. _"Ah,"_ Was all he offered in return to the confession, and Bard was partially relieved that he did not offer condolences, for he had _enough_ of those to last a lifetime. Legolas, an immortal, more than likely knew all too well that mortal beings die, constantly, regularly. The elf hesitated for a moment, allowing a short silence between the two of them before saying anything more. "Forgive me, if my question is intrusive, but, I must ask..." Legolas met Bard's gaze, and his deep blue eyes appeared to be pained, "Do you... speak of her, around your children?"

Bard was not necessarily taken aback by the odd question, but he certainly had never been asked something of that sort in the past. Even so, he gave the elf a truthful answer, nodding slowly, "Not regularly, but sometimes, yes." He said, and before the elf could ask why he would do such a thing, the man began to explain, "We all miss her dearly, but you can only grieve over a lost love for so long; best to remember the happy moments, fleeting as they may have been--- it is healthy for them, don't you agree?" He asked.

Legolas nodded slowly, processing Bard's reply to his inquiry, but all the while, he remained silent, as though something was on the elf's mind, troubling him dearly. Bard thought of questioning him, asking if something was bothering him, but he wondered if he even had any sort of right to do so. Then, he realized that, given his odd relationship with the Elvenking, Legolas was _practically_ family to him, now, and by all means, he had the right to try and brighten up his mood.

So, Bard stood forward and grabbed the elf's attention with a rather forward question. "Am I correct to assume that Thranduil does not speak of his late wife, all that often?" He asked, in a hushed tone, a near whisper.

Legolas slowly shook his head, his gaze remaining fixated on the floor. "Not a word," He said, solemnly, the sadness so clear in his tone that it caused Bard's heart to ache dearly for the elf. "My father... He is still pained, very deeply, over the loss," Legolas shrugged, and sighed deeply, "Now, he has taken to locking himself away--- for so long, he has kept himself from forming deep bonds with any other living being, fearing he may lose them..." Finally, the elven prince looked up, and his gaze met Bard's all too suddenly, "And then, _you_ came along; you are a mortal--- a young, fleeting life, and a monstrous one at that, and yet," Legolas tilted his head, quizzically, "My father has let you in."

Bard raised an eyebrow, and he stepped back in suspicion. "What are you implying, exactly?" He could not help but ask, trying to keep the defensiveness out of his voice.

Legolas backed away, leaning against the front door, and he shrugged, "I do not imply anything," He explained, "I do ask, however, that you love my father, and love him dearly." The elf stated simply, and following that, he turned towards the door, twisting the knob and opening it, stepping outside into the cold air. He only spared Bard one last glance, and a few final words, before escaping to the outside, "If you do just that, you may be the one to help him." He explained, before leaving the room with a shut of the door.

Bard stood there in silence, only hearing the sound of the elf's agile feet against the wall of his house, and then his footsteps against the roof, causing Bard to look up towards the ceiling. The elven prince would remain up there, watching out into the darkness for any sort of danger, and also, for his father's return.

In the meantime, Bard felt himself just about ready to collapse from exhaustion, but the floor of his living room was definitely _not_ the place to do that. He dragged his feet, wobbling towards the staircase, and just as he gripped the railing, he heaved a heavy sigh, running Legolas' words through his head one last time, before disappearing upstairs, and into his chambers.

No matter how many times he repeated the statement in his head, it did not cease to have his chest swell and ache with sadness.

\---------------------------------------------------

Hours had passed. At least a whole entire three of them, and Bard lay awake in his bed, unable to get any sleep--- previously, his children had confessed that they were too worried to get any sort of sleep, thinking about where their father could be. Now, he was home, safe and sound, and as his children's content snores were audible through the thin walls of his meager house, it was _he_ who remained awake out of worry, and anxiousness.

Legolas had affirmed that Thranduil would be able to take care of Bard's captors, quickly and quietly, yet it had been ages, and he had still not returned. Where on earth was he? Had he been overpowered? Was _he_ now being imprisoned by those ignorant, awful men? All sorts of worrying thoughts and anxiety filled Bard's mind, making his heart race and his blood boil, and as he lie sleepless in his bed, bare save for his trousers, and tangled hair undone and splayed out freely beneath him, his eyes remained fixated on the open window to his side--- he felt more than prepared to see his elf hop into the room through said window, but as time passed on, there was no sign of him.

Bard sighed, and turned in his sheets to face opposite to the window, the crisp autumn breeze blowing against his bare back. He shut his eyes, and tried to think of something other than Thranduil, but these efforts were to no avail, as his mind always wandered back towards thoughts of the elf. He thought about meeting him, months previous to this day, and within the days following, befriending him, and then receiving a lavish brooch from him, one that glimmered in the sunlight from every corner imaginable. Rethinking those fond memories, Bard wished for the sun to be out now, and offer him some sort of comfort, if Thranduil was to offer him none...

Rather than the sun greeting Bard through the open window, however, the man was nearly startled out of his wits as he heard a loud 'thump' of boots hitting the floorboards of his room, and he shot upright and turned to face his window, to be greeted with the sight of a rather exhausted looking Elvenking facing him. Bard was happy, overjoyed, but these emotions were momentarily overshadowed by his vain attempts to coax his own heart rate into slowing down, after being so frightened so suddenly.

"Thranduil!" He exclaimed, although he kept his voice hushed, so as not to wake his children at such a late hour... And, speaking of those three, "Could you be any louder?" Bard asked, his brows furrowing, "The walls are thin, and my children are _sleeping!"_ He pointed out.

Thranduil said nothing; he looked disheveled, and irritated altogether, as though he had just been through a long an unnecessary conflict that needn't happen in the first place. His eyes tired and half-lidded, he only murmured something in elvish as though to dismiss Bard's protests, and immediately, he began disrobing in front of the man, starting with his cloak, which was the first article of clothing to fall to the floor.

Bard immediately blushed upon realization, and he felt the need to avert his eyes as the elf stripped before him, leaving only his trousers as he collapsed very suddenly next to Bard, onto the bed in a mess of long, tangled hair and limbs. Needless to say, Bard was rather taken aback, he'd never seen Thranduil so ultimately done with everything. "H-Hang on," He said, finally meeting eyes with the elf, and scooting over on the bed to allow Thranduil considerable enough room, although the meager piece of furniture would be too small for the elf, no matter what.

Thranduil did not seem to mind all too much, however, instead taking to, quite literally wrapping himself around Bard--- their bodies pressed close together in the most intimate manner, and their limbs becoming tangled together under Thranduil's will; the elf nestled his head into the crook of Bard's neck, clinging to him almost in a cat-like manner.

Underneath the elf's embrace, Bard's heart thumped in his chest--- this was all too _sudden,_ all too much at once, and Thranduil did not seem all too interested in offering any sort of explanation in what he had just been through; if anything, he just seemed much more interested in resting, but Bard was still far from tired, and the more he thought of his current predicament, the more he felt a sort of confession bubbling up in his throat.

"Thranduil," He started off, and he swallowed shakily before continuing, "I love you," he said, and he felt the elf go completely rigid against him, possibly caught off guard--- this response only prompted Bard to continue speaking, "But... This is our first time sharing a bed; have I not earned any explanation? Will you not even tell me what happened to you?" He asked sheepishly.

Thranduil remained silent for a few long, _painful_ moments, and Bard had thought, for a moment, that he messed up entirely in making such a bold confession to the elf--- but the man was brought emotional relief instantly when Thranduil finally made a sound, sighing wearily as he sat up, as did Bard, and the two met eyes as the elf rubbed his temples, clearly irritated. "I would rather not dwell on it; I had to make a few negotiations, settle a few arguments--- most importantly, however," He set a hand onto Bard's shoulder, "You and your family are safe from harm. For a long while, at the very least."

Bard couldn't fight a smile, "That's good," He said, and for a moment, he was tempted to lean in and allow Thranduil a chaste kiss, but there was still an odd, tense aura between the two of them that kept the bargeman from pursuing such desires. Instead, he lowered his gaze, and tried to speak again, "Thranduil, I---"

 _"If I may,"_ Thranduil interrupted, and Bard looked at his face to see his brows furrowed, his blue eyes shut, and the elf sighed, shuddering a bit, "I need to touch upon something with you, Bard." He said, followed by nothing more.

Silence overtook the two of them, and Bard found himself at a loss for words, unable to say anything, unable to reply, at all. He was afraid of what would come next--- would his confession be shot down? Was he being rejected? Did the elf not return his advances, is that what he needed to say? Frankly, Bard was afraid to find out, although he could not remain silent forever, and instead, he found himself slowly nodding towards Thranduil's proposal. "Go on..." He ushered.

Thranduil's eyes remained completely shut, and his expression grew pained, "Do not _think,_ " He began, and suddenly, although the room was dark and Bard could not see clearly, he was almost certain that he saw a hint of something dark and gruesome creeping onto the left side of the elf's face, replacing a perfectly carved, ivory pale cheekbone with vehement scars and exposed flesh, and Bard felt his stomach grow sick and twisted at the sight, but he did not avert his gaze as Thranduil continued to speak, "Do not _even think,_ that _abandoning_ me will keep me free of harm. For so many years, countless decades, I have felt like a _corpse_ of my former self, but you---" He opened his eyes, and gasped as the wounds disappeared from his face, into thin air, "You make me feel more alive than I have felt in so long--- I need this now, I need _you._ "

Bard opened his mouth to try and form words, but the elf's name only ghosted upon his lips in a quiet murmur. "Thranduil..." He said, and nothing more followed.

Thranduil reached over to caress Bard's cheek in a feather-light touch, and he gave him a weak smile, "Perhaps," The elf said, "I am a masochist. I do not mind when you hurt me physically, but I know very well that you are a mortal--- you will die, and that will bring me a great deal of emotional pain--- and yet, I _stay._ " He uttered the final word quietly, as though even he was left completely mystified at his own actions. Then, he set his hand down gently, and the smile disappeared from his face, "Bard, if you are to consider abandoning me for any reason, do _not_ allow my _safety_ to be one of those reasons. Leaving me for such a cause will not fix me. _Nothing_ will." The elf then averted his gaze, and sighed sadly, "You cannot fix what has long been broken." He stated.

Suddenly finding the words to form a reply, Bard shook his head, slowly at first, then faster in great protest, "No," He said, "No, no, listen here, you--- You _mad_ elf---" He grabbed Thranduil, caressing his face tightly and grabbing the elf's attention, earning a wide stare in his direction, before Bard pulled the elf in for a long, deep kiss, one that he had been craving all day, and as quickly and suddenly as he had initiated it, he ended it, to reassure his elf, who stared in his direction intently. "You are _not_ broken, and even if you are, I could care less. I have been falling in love with you since the day I first laid my eye upon you, you absolute prick..." He trailed off, his gaze falling downwards.

Thranduil, who had previously been stunned into silence for a few, long moments, slowly reached out to caress Bard's strong shoulder once more, digging his fingers into the flesh in an attempt to soothe him. "Bard," He whispered.

"I apologize," Bard murmured, and before the words had even left his mouth, he felt himself choking up; the tears that he had been holding back for so long, were finally beginning to falls in trails down his face, onto the cream colored sheets beneath the two of them. "I apologize for even _implying_ that I would abandon you for that reason, Thranduil, I just--- I thought---" He slowly lowered his hands from the elf, and sighed shakily, in an attempt to compose himself, and he spoke again, "I feel as though I'm being _smothered,_ " He confessed, "I am unsafe in my own home, and I thought I would also be unsafe in _your_ domain, as well. It was as if there was nowhere to run, nowhere to escape to where I could be myself--- nowhere except that _dark, damp prison---"_

"Do not say such things!" The elf exclaimed, keeping his tone hushed, mindful towards the sleeping children through the walls, and he leaned forward gently to kiss the stray, salty tears off of Bard's face--- the man sat there, trembling under the elf's touch, all the while. "You only belong _here._ With me." The elf reaffirmed, and Bard nodded slowly in agreement, before being pulled into an embrace, surprisingly enough, initiated by Thranduil, of which the man properly returned with ease. The elf buried his face into Bard's shoulder, murmuring against the exposed skin, "I return your affections, Bard of Laketown. Although I may be willingly putting myself in the line of fire, only to be hurt again, you are new and _different,_ yet strangely _familiar_ to me--- and I will do this for you."

Bard sniffled back tears, the sadness alleviated at Thranduil's words of comfort, and he could not help but smile. "You are amazing," He exclaimed.

Thranduil rubbed Bard's back in a comforting manner, before releasing him from his grasp, and he returned the man's grin for just a small, almost nonexistent moment. "I'm aware," He said, looking smug and earning a chuckle from Bard with such a bold statement. The elf then shut his eyes, and laid back down onto the bed, nuzzling into the pillows, "And now, I am asleep." He said wearily, his voice muffled against the fabric.

Bard couldn't help but laugh, leaning down to place a kiss against Thranduil's hair before settling down next to him, and gathering him into his arms. "Goodnight, then, you unbelievable prick of an elf king," Bard said, earning a small, tired kick against the ankle from the elf beside him. Only laughing off the meager offense, Bard finally shut his eyes in earnest, peaceful rest.

The vampire within him no longer felt smothered, stifled, or afraid, but beside the Elvenking, he felt _free,_ and at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i originally planned to release the second chapter of this fic one month after the first, but not only did my schoolwork intervene all too suddenly, but i also run a webcomic! its like my baby u_u therefore it takes precedence over anything else in my life  
> im gonna think of some way to make it up to you guys--- maybe ill upload another barduil fanfic i wrote awhile ago that hasnt seen the light of day. its a little bit non-canon, but hey, its a fic. maybe you guys might see that sometime soon. who knows?


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